If You Could Only See
by Ihsan997
Summary: She was but an innocent pupil at the mage's academy once. When I found her, she had been separated from her love due to an experiment by a fanatical sect of the bird people. She was turned into a living bomb, and I was her only friend in the world. When my associate and I tried to reunite them, the results changed us all forever. F belf x M belf; Forsaken narrator
1. A Chance Encounter

**A/N: Hello, dear readers! Welcome to what is a combination of tragedy, romance and friendship all rolled in to one. This story ties in to the three chapter Before Summer's End as the two stories cross over at some point, and also serves as a prequel of sorts to the 44 chapter You, Me &amp; Us and - though distantly - volume two of Taming the Beast. For the very first time, I am publishing this story as it comes to me; for all my other stories, even the longer ones, I don't post a single chapter until the whole thing is finished and saved on my hard drive. This is an experiment: I have the beginning and I know the ending, but I will merely write the middle as I go along and see where that takes us.**

**For dates, refer to the Wowpedia unofficial Warcraft timeline as a rough guide. The first and last chapter start and finish in the year 55 if the First War (and the game Warcraft I) count as year 1, which is consistent even with the official timeline. Considering that the online game World of Warcraft was launched in the year 25 and Warlords of Draenor is considered the year 31 - when the rest of this story takes place - then the rest of the continuum of If You Could Only See should hopefully be clear.**

**If not, please feel free to PM me and I will try to adjust as needed for clarification. As always, I don't own Warcraft, Draenor or Reshaad - just my stories and characters. Enjoy!**

_Ratchet, the Barrens, year 55_

All of what you are about to read, my dear friend, is real. Considering the oddities one typically finds on Azeroth, none of the details herein should come off as particularly strange. However, I always feel comfortable adding such a disclaimer before I recount the more personal of my tales. My journalistic pieces are much easier to compose and require much less in the way of formal introductions. For stories in which I played an active role, though, such reminders are often of benefit to both you and I.

Perhaps a bit of explanation is needed, though I won't ramble - you will come to formulate your own judgments over my character and persona as you read through the lines and the inherent bias all writers possess. Hopefully, a small introduction will aid you as you sift through which details you choose to accept as truth and which you prefer to leave off as my own subconscious insertions.

I am Valmar of the Forsaken - freelance journalist, armchair historian and one of two warrior trainers in Ratchet these days. I was patched together by a scientist one could accurately describe as 'mad,' and my psyche is comprised by the memories of at least four human males, a high elf male and a human female through means I may never comprehend. My swordsmanship and durable body imply that I was intended as a bodyguard, and my somewhat haphazardly formed appearance implies that I was somewhere between a typical Forsaken undead and an abomination, but my intellect and knowledge of high culture belie a perhaps unintended consequence of the six skill sets I was bequethed at the time of my 'creation.' Make of all that what you will, and feel free to interpret my words through any lens you see fit; a true writer writes not only for themselves but for their audience, an audience of mature adult beings who are capable of drawing their own conclusions.

Tiondel Hearthglen, the youngest son of my fellow warrior trainer here and my personal protege in both fencing and history, will soon be arriving from a visit to his relatives up north in Ashenvale, and it is my hope that I will have the first draft of this manuscript ready before he arrives. An advantage of such an apt pupil as he is that he not only learns quickly, but also provides proofreading and editing services free of charge.

My apologies, dear reader - I claimed above that I wouldn't ramble yet it seems I've subjected you to three paragraphs of exactly that. Let's move on.

It was the beginning of summer in the year 31 when I first met her. Mioda Lightwhisperer was her name, though obviously I wasn't aware of that at the time of our most unfortunate crossing of paths. I had ended up stranded on Draenor as I tried to find a new place in the world after my years of imprisonment on entirely false charges (which I would detail to you here were it nor for my fear of rambling again). The campaign against the Iron Horde on an alternate version of the planet was in full swing at that point, with the strong support of both major factions on Azeroth as well as a number of smaller, neutral organizations doing their part for the war effort through copious logistics and materiel contracts provided from government coffers. Like others finding their way in the world, I enlisted as an irregular and marched through a reopened portal to Ashran after the initial destruction of the Iron Horde's Dark Portal. The merenary contractors of the real Horde provided me with weapons, some cash, extra clothing and a bunk to sleep on if only for a fixed amount of time. Once there, I was sure I could work my way to self sufficiency given the sheer volume of quests, odd jobs and raids to participate in.

From Ashran I caught a ship to Gorgrond, and traveled on foot to Talador and…well, here I go rambling again. This is more the story of Mioda and Anerial than of myself, Zhenya or Reshaad. I'm sure, dear reader, you're more interested in how an idealistic if naive young blood elf, through no fault of her own, was separated from her fiance and turned into a living bomb by a cult of avian fanatics on the alternate version of a different planet.

Fate often works without malice or mercy, and it just so happened to guide me to the Spires of Arak on that…well, fateful afternoon. No pun intended.

For the life of me, I cannot recall the specifics of the inane quest I had accepted; what little I can remember related to giant bat wings and plucked feathers from the airborne, xenophobic, rabidly hostile variety of the native bird people. Due to the toughness of the skin I was gifted with at the time of my creation, I've never found much use for armor; it's heavy, restricting and inflexible anyway. With nothing but my clothes, rapier and mask - my face is unsettling to the living, and I consider first impressions to be of the utmost importance - I was able to travel rapidly, running through the wilderness as I collected whatever seemingly nonsensical ingrediants Reshaad, a man of some respect among the arakkoa, had sent me on. Were it not for my immense respect and admiration for the old buzzard (pun intended this time) who behaved as though he was everyone's uncle and grandpa simultaneously, I would never have bothered.

Yet I am glad that I did; what happened beyond that point led to friendships I shall cherish until the hollowness takes me and a series of events I shall ensure become known to the world.

I had arrived at the correct location in the early morning - that much I remember. Though I can't remember the exact goal of the quest, I do remember that it required me to leave the main road in the area and I had spent quite some time hiking through the wilderness. Though much of the province consisted of exactly what it was named for - spires - I had found myself in a particularly flat, open expanse where my vision was only obscured by all the briar trees. While culling such a large number of bats in their sleep did pose a moral quandary, the creatures were mostly sleeping in the day time. That made the task much easier; without having to look them in the eyes, I was able to justify my actions internally by repeating to myself that it was likely for a good cause, and I simply cut the jugular veins of most of the bats before they even had a chance to wake up.

When it came to the airborn bird people, though, all sense of moral illegitimacy disappeared. The creatures were horrendous and abhorrent - perhaps every such adjective functioning as a synonym for those two terms could be applied to them. The flightless bird people such as Reshaad, who seemed filled with so much sincere, if cautious, kindness toward the Azerothian heroes fighting the Iron Horde were relentlessly persecuted by their flying cousins, and more than a handful of members of the Horde and the Alliance fell to the fliers' talons and spears. The killings were inevitably gruesome and ritualized, with many of the victims' internal organs being strewn across the landscape as a sort of terror tactic and warning to any who would oppose their will. The problem was that their will was erratic and illogical, and avoiding conflict was impossible.

Not that this was a problem for me - their talons weren't quite thick enough to pierce all the way through my patched up skin, and my manufactured body was more powerful than that of the humans and orcs around my height. Like any other sentient, they could fall under a sword wielded in skilled hands. It was just my luck that two of my male brains belonged to former enlisted soldiers, and muscle memory seemed to reside within my limbs as well.

It was only a few hours after the noon time when I first heard her pitiful cries. They were not cries for help or mercy, but rather the weak, exhausted cries of a fellow feeling, sentient being who had given up. Cries so heartwrenching that even without knowing the crier, I felt an intense sympathy for her tugging at my very core. The protective instincts of my five male brains and the empathic urges of my single female brain drove me further into a patch of tall brambles as I seached for the source.

The wicked trees were imposingly tall, though since they lacked leaves my visibility through the patch wasn't entirely impeded. Taking care to avoid any sharp branches which might snag by clothes - my dark green v-neck shirt was particularly expensive - I grasped wood and rock as I lowered myself down what appeared to be an old sinkhole that had since been filled with dozens of the twisted trees.

As I approached, the cries became more audible though not any louder, and the woman - whom I guessed to be in her late twenties - spoke no words. Crouching low, I listened for signs of anyone else prowling the area lest I fall into some sort of ambush. Sensing nothing, I sought to make my presence known; with a visage like mine, you quickly learn that surprising people can often ruin potential friendships and business relations.

"Ma'am," I called out in Common in a low voice so as not to attract anyone else's attention. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

For a moment there was no answer, and I assumed that I had frightened whatever traumatized person it was that was crying. Both my curiosity and my sympathy piqued, I took another step further and attempted to call out again, but was interrupted by the voice of a living elf whose throat was parched and whose spirit was broken.

"Get back," the young lady attempted to exclaim, though it came out more as a whimper. I could tell that tears were still flowing, but she was likely too exhausted to sob anymore. "Please go away…I'll hurt you…"

"You don't sound capable of hurting anyone right now, my friend," I said in the calmest voice I could muster. "But you do sound hurt yourself. Are you alone?"

Confirming my suspicions that the voice belonged to someone slightly disturbed, the woman broke down and gurgled what sounded like 'always' as a response. Determination fueled my efforts and I ensured that my steps could be heard as I approached. There was more gurgling followed by a short sob, and I could hear weak limbs scrabbling in the dirt. Descending even further, I tried one last time to reassure the person speaking before I revealed myself.

"As two travelers from the same planet - as nobody from Draenor speaks Common so fluently - I have an obligation to help," I explained as soothingly as possible. Along with the lucidity of my mind, the clarity of my voice is another characteristic preserved in my undeath that I am endlessly thankful for. However, it only seemed to cause the woman further distress.

"Please…I don't want to cause any more pain in the world…" she cried shrilly though quietly. "Please, just leave me to die. Nobody was supposed to find me…"

But find her I did. And when I peeked out from behind an exceptionally large patch of briar bushes, I saw what is to this day - excluding the trials I have witnessed from my fellow Forsaken - one of the saddest things I ever did see.


	2. A Trying Task

It was still the afternoon if I remember correctly. I remember only because the heat affected the young woman's condition; otherwise, I may not have been able to remember the difference between night and day. As I followed a rather pitiful sounding voice through that patch of leafless twisted trees, I had already prepared myself to view something awful.

I moved slowly but not stealthily, having no desire to startle anyone. Even with my mask and my clear voice, the fact that I'm undead is still apparent to most people I encounter. I've been unable to put my finger on exactly why, but most everyone always seems to know. This woman was obviously grievously injured, and she didn't need to be any more frightened than she already was. As I descended into what was not simply an incline but possible an ancient sinkhole, I ensured that my footsteps would be heard as I mulled over ways to care for the sick or injured.

As an undead, I am neither able to in need of food or drink; a shame, really, as upon my creation I seemed to have a rather extensive knowledge of wine and cheese from one of my six sets of memories. I did, however, carry mineral water with my everywhere for hygienic purposes. It would be cheaper to carry any purified or distilled water to clean with, but one of my few vices is spending a little extra for natural spring water instead. Given how parched this woman's throat sounded from her cries, I imagined she might appreciate the drink enough to calm down.

Healing for my own injuries could only be performed by potions or a proper necromancer - thankfully, neither were in short supply, especially in the Spires - but by chance, some of the bird people I had slain happened to be carrying spare gauze, bandages and some kind of healing salve. I had originally intended to sell them to other adventurers at Veil Zekk, but it seemed they had a higher purpose now. My boot snagged on a rock as I descended, causing it to tumble over a small earthen alcove dug into the sloping surface of the sinkhole, and I realized that I was directly over the speaker I had heard crying earlier.

"You've doomed us both," she whimpered in a barely audible voice. She said something else after that, but it was either too quiet for me to hear or I was too shocked by what I saw once I dropped down to the alcove to remember.

Keep in mind, dear reader, that I am undead. A cross between a typical sentry and an abomination, in fact, and for reasons I will never know, I somehow remember bits and pieces from my own creation: my parts being assembled with necromantic magic, decrepit insides being added, bubbling cauldrons and tesla coils. It wasn't pretty. I've seen some strange sights during my forays in Undercity as well, despite my limited time there. Very few of our kind are squeamish. And yet, what I saw next was enough even to give someone such as myself pause.

She was a blood elf with dirty blonde hair, and while her age was impossible to gauge given her miserable state, I could tell from her voice that she had seen no more than thirty summers. She was lying on her stomach in the dirt, and the angle that the sun hit the overhang of her earthen alcove caused her to be hidden in the shade entirely, waiting for a slow death from starvation. Though I no longer experience lust or even a desire for romantic interaction, I imagine that she may have been beautiful once. Such as time had passed, however, and even without knowing this person my figurative blood boiled at the thought of who or what could have rendered her so…honestly, I'd rather not write of her in such a negative situation. Suffice to say that other than myself - other than an undead used to such sights - may have killed her right there out of mercy.

Donning a tabard with the red and gold stripes typical of many apprentice mages of her people, it was difficult at first to see all the dried blood on her clothing. Her pants and what appeared to have once been a long sleeved shirt ripped to short sleeves were tattered and beige from the soil; I imagine they were originally an off-white color (I am, unfortunately, not as descriptive with colors as I am with odors or cheese). Her suede boots had once been stylish, but were worn to the point where the ball of her right foot had poked all the way through the bottom. If only her sullied, unwashed clothing were the worst of it.

Her long ears had been shredded; the lobes were intact but the tips hung in pieces, already scabbed over such that a healer could only prevent disease, but not salvage the proper shape. Her lips were chapped to the point that the bottom one had split open, scabbed over and dried again, and even the purple area around the cut had dried out completely. At the corners of her eyes, I could see that her tear ducts were yellowed and she had been crying for a long, long time; perhaps the only reason she had stopped crying was that she was no longer able. There were numerous bumps, scrapes and bruises all over her pinkish skin, and combined with her chipped fingernails and emaciated figure, I honestly questioned if I would be able to save her. Yet so disconcerting was her appearance that saving her was all I could think of at that moment.

Well, that, and the runes.

All over her body, glowing even brighter than her fel green eyes, were non-elven runes literally carved into her skin. The method of their engraving was obviously magical, as the runes weren't simply cuts into her skin but were arcane symbols fused onto her in an incorporeal manner. They switched between various shades of silver, pink, purple and grey, somewhat similar to how my former cellmates in prison described psychedelic drugs. That her eyes were still glowing signaled that there was some magic left within her, and although I know nothing of any sort of magics other than necrotic, the presence of mana in her system gave me hope.

I have absolutely no shyness in confessing that had I been physically capable, I would have cried solely from the sight of her. I am neither particularly sensitive nor sentimental - it isn't possible given what most of our kind has seen - so understand the gravity of that confession, dear reader.

Her neck appeared too weak to lift her head from the ground, but her cheek rested with her face aimed toward me and I noticed her looking back. She didn't seem afraid; perhaps she had hoped I would slice her jugular right there and give her a relatively painless death, bleeding out into the soil. Even with everything that would happen to her - to all of us - later on, I am endlessly thankful that I didn't.

"It's not working," she rasped in confusion. "It worked, I know it did, but it's not working."

Ignoring her words as the rambling of someone near death, I sat down and opened the satchel I always kept strapped across my back. I couldn't digest normal drinks but certain varieties of potions seemed to work fine, and I generally carried the types which would work both on the living and the undead - just in case of situations like this. I prepared a health potion which wouldn't heal her physical wounds, but would keep her alive for a period. I placed my glass bottle of mineral water right next to it and inspected the gauze I had pilfered from one of the winged arakkoa as I sifted through the memory of one of the two military-experienced personalities in my brain; he had experience with first aid, and images of tending to a wounded rifleman during his life flashed through my head. Though I retained a clear understanding that the memories were not something I - Valmar - had experienced, they were still vivid in my brain as though I had, and I closed my eyes and watched as two hands reached in front of me to apply ointment to an already closing wound on the dwarf gunner. I could see those two hands like my own as they carefully applied enough pressure to the gauze to keep the dirt out, but not enough to reopen the wound. By the time I had opened my eyes again, the woman's breathing had become more regular though she still held the same confused look. When she spoke again, her voice was still weak but I could tell that she wasn't rambling; she seemed coherent and aware of what she was saying.

"You're undead," she rasped. "That's why it isn't working."

"I am Valmar of the Forsaken. I heard your cries. I am going to return you to town once we work on closing these wounds. Save your energy; we'll report your case to the local authorities once at Veil Zekk."

I expected my words to be comforting, but she twitched uncomfortably, and when I lifted the bottle of mineral water to her cracked lips, she refused.

"You don't understand…you're undead. That's why we're both still here." Her voice was weak yet certain, as though I were missing the point entirely.

"You need to drink before speaking more," I urged quietly. "You're safe now; I won't allow whoever did this to you to try again." There was an unintentional spike of anger in my voice; I had no idea who this woman was, but I'd like to think that there's a sort of universal empathy all beings possess that would cause any thinking, feeling person to react much the same.

Hesitating for only a moment, she did as I asked, taking the smallest of sips at a time until the bottle was only drained a quarter of the way. Before she had a chance to protest again, I lifted the healing potion to her lips in kind, and allowed her to drink a similar amount of the thick red fluid before setting it down and waiting. If she vomited, then her situation would only worsen, and though I no longer needed to breathe I felt as though I were not only doing so but with some sort of impairment to my lungs.

Her bloodshot eyes still bore fear and I knew she wouldn't sleep, so I let her rest for a moment before speaking again. As I applied the healing salve and bandages to whatever wounds I could see, she lied on her belly in silence, not quite in a stupor but certainly overwhelmed by her change in fortune. For whatever reason, she didn't seem relieved; it was as though her hope had been crushed so thoroughly that even a kind traveler tending to her wounds wasn't enough to lift her spirits.

When I finished my work with the bandages, I took the water bottle in my hand again, intending to go through the motions of water-potion-water-potion until both bottles were empty. She shook her head this time, her expression almost apologetic.

"You can't take me to other living people," she gasped, though it seemed like she had intended to sigh. "We'll all die."

The runes shone on her skin and given how lucid she appeared, I began to think there might be some truth to what she was saying, as incomprehensible as it sounded.

"Are these markings on your skin dangerous?" I asked.

She nodded by wiping her cheek in the dirt, no longer seeming to care about cleanliness. I left her lying on her stomach in case she had broken bones, and then realized that I hadn't even checked for such serious impairments. I went through a laundry list of ailments, asking her if she felt any sprains or breaks, any swelling that could insinuate a hernia, any sort of internal bleeding. She shook her head in the dirt, silently acknowledging that her maimed skin, battered outside and malnutrition were the only difficulties she was experiencing. Trying to think of what to do, I pressed further about her immediate situation without delving into the obviously traumatic experience that had led her to that dirt alcove - for the time being, at least.

"Why do you think those markings will cause other livings to die?"

My question seemed painful enough, and she shut her eyes tightly. One nearly universal constant - I say nearly as there are always exceptions - is a desire for some sort of touch by the wounded. I slipped my index finger into her palm - her dainty hands were much smaller than mine - and she seemed to curl her own fingers around mine the best she could. It was then that I noticed the engagement ring she was wearing.

She coughed, and finally accepted more water before she spoke again. "That's what they're for. She wanted to see if it would work."

Her eyes began darting out of the alcove to the twisted trees outside, and I could tell she would have experienced an anxiety attack had she not already been so physically and mentally exhausted. I avoided questions about who 'she' was, and focused on how I would get this woman some help.

"There are animals out here; birds and crickets," I said. "Are you sure these runes will do what they're intended to do?"

She nodded in the dirt again. "They'll only trigger if I encounter other living sentients. She told me the runes will hum loudly and people will have one minute to escape." She tried to crook her head up and looked through my mask - one of the few metal parts of my outfit - to see my still alive-looking eyes and functional eyelids. People could tell I was undead due to my 'aura' perhaps, but not my eyes. "You can't take me to Veil Zekk. Everyone will die."

Her story was hard to swallow, but she seemed intelligent and cogent, and the runes were unlike anything I had ever seen. Trying to think of a solution in my head, I found none other than caring for her in that alcove forever. It would mean leaving her alone as I returned to town and fetched food and drink, and she couldn't spent much longer hiding in a hole, surviving on my charity. This was an alternate version of Draenor and I would only be there long enough to fight the Iron Horde; in fact, our aid to the flightless arakkoa was only in return for their aid against the forces of Hellscream. As heartwrenching as her situation was, logic dictated that I couldn't run back and forth between her hole and the town forever; another solution would need to be found.

I thought of Reshad and Zhenya. If anyone could find some sort of a solution for this woman's plight, perhaps even a cure, it would be the old storyteller. And Zhenya…well, she could hit hard.

No, scratch that. We had an argument before I had gone on the quest; ignore that last part. Tiondel, when you proofread this please delete that line as I can't find my eraser.

I thought of Reshad and Zhenya. If anyone could find some sort of a solution for this woman's plight, perhaps even a cure, it would be the old storyteller. And Zhenya, being a rather resourceful paladin, could provide backup as I tended to this wounded elf - at least from a distance at the sinkhole and on our runs through the rather dangerous trek back to the Veil. How a draenei worshipper of the Light became such a close associate and even friend of an undead forsaken by the Light will be revealed soon enough; at that time, I needed to focus in Mioda.

Which brings me out of my rambling and back to the story itself.

"I know of a sorcerer of sorts, back at the Veil; he's one of the natives," I said. "There has to be a way to cure you of this condition. I will wait here with you until you gain some strength. Once we're sure your condition is improving, I'll rush back to town as fast as I can. I promise I won't leave you for long."

The woman almost looked like she wanted to cry again, though that time I would like to imagine it was less from fear and more from being touched by the kindness of a stranger. Pausing only briefly, she nodded her head in the dirt once again, affirming what I said. We sat in silence for a moment as her eyelids finally drooped. I continued serving her portions of the healing potion until it was more than halfway finished, and to my relief she kept all of it down.

As she finally started to drift off, I could no longer hold back my curiosity. If I were to help this woman, I needed to know who she was. That she wore an engagement ring meant that, perhaps, she even had someone searching for her out there I could seek aid from. This would obviously be a rather trying task I had accepted.

"What is your name?" I asked as consciousness seemed to slip from her.

Her eyelids flicked open once more as she already started to drool a little. "Mioda," she whispered. "Mioda Lightwhisperer." Rather cliché for an elf, but at least I knew who she was.

Sleep took her quickly, though her fingers remain curled around my own. I sat without moving through the next eleven and a half hours that she slumbered. There was no monotony, however; I spent every last minute formulating the plan, every step of the way, I would have to explain to her upon waking.

I'd like to end with "If I only knew how things would turn out," but the truth is that I already knew, even at that time, what the ultimate end would be.


	3. What Is It

**A/N: Never thought I'd be one of those authors to apologize for the delay, but…I apologize for the delay. On a lighter note, I used a notepad to plan out the rough plot for the rest of the story from now to the end and it will likely be about ten chapters. And not just because it's a nice, even number; that's simply how it turned out. Since this is the least planned story I've ever written, we'll have to wait and see if that number changes. Enjoy!**

Returning to where we left off, I'd spent literally half a day waiting for Mioda to awaken once she'd ingested some water and healing potion and had her surface wounds tended to. She slept a deep, surprisingly peaceful sleep considering the trauma she'd obviously suffered and I detected no hint of night terrors or other disturbances while she slept.

The eleven and a half ours didn't whiz by, but they were surprisingly easy to bear. No longer desiring sleep, many of my kind - sentient undead - often grow restless during such periods of low activity. Thankfully, I had quite a bit to think about

Scratch that last line. In retrospect, I feel rather guilty having written it. There really wasn't anything pleasant about the situation at hand, and it would be more accurate to simply say that I had a lot to think about during that period.

Mioda never moved aside from her breathing, and while I normally found that habit of the living to be an annoyance, in this case it was a relief. Her relatively stable rhythm let me know that she really didn't seem to have internal injuries while her external injuries and dehydration were slowly abating. I speculated as to how she may have ended up in such a miserable condition. That her shoes were so worn out, coupled with her dehydration, insinuated that she'd been wandering the wilderness for a long time and probably had no destination in mind. Her lack of supplies implied a haste leave - or in this case, escape. She claimed the runes on her skin are dangerous, and they were put there by someone rather evil whose mere memory caused the young mage to cringe.

Across the hours, I drew a mental picture of what may have led her to that earthen alcove. Young by the standards of elves from what I remembered (one of my sets of memories belonged to a high elf), she had likely crossed through the Dark Portal after the first major push. Guessing the exact reason would be difficult knowing so little about her personality, so I resigned myself to not knowing that specific detail. Likewise, I had no way of knowing whether the engagement ring meant there was somebody already searching for her, or if she merely clung to it as a relic of a once-normal life shattered. The overall impression was of a starry-eyed adventurer who had either bitten off more than she could chew or had simply been kidnapped on a raidng party where her comrades died. Perhaps the fiance she may have had…I tried to avoid thinking of that, such was the inexplicable sympathy I had for this stranger. The runes implied slavery at first, but then I remembered her claim that proximity to other living sentients (though not critters or undead) would result in the death of herself and those around her.

It was confounding, as there didn't seem to be any purpose for the runes. She couldn't be forced to work, and even keeping her prisoner would be dangerous for her captors. I considered her having been cursed as a punishment, but quickly ruled that out: such a punishment was unknown among any people I knew of on Azeroth and Draenor, as was a form of magic capable of such things. Whatever the cause was, I knew I would need to treat carefully when discussing it with her. I needed as much information as possible in order to help her, but pushing her for too much information in too short an amount of time could cause undue stress and possible lead to her withholding information. And Reshad would need as much information as possible were he to provide help.

That was another thought I dreaded. If she really couldn't approach other sentients, then she wouldn't be able to accompany me to Veil Zekk. She appeared so starved that I could have carried her the entire way, but in addition to the possibility of meeting other living persons, there was also the fear of encountering those who did this to her or even simple highway robbers. While most of us left Azeroth for Draenor in order to fight Hellscream's Iron Horde, a shamefully high number of people posing as adventurers came through the Dark Portal simply to lie, cheat and steal from the real heroes as well.

But I digress. As the hours ticked by, it dawned on me that Mioda would spend more time in that alcove alone and unprotected, at least until I could track down Zhenya and prod the irreverent paladin to stand watch. Which would be a task in and of itself, but I determined to simply cross that bridge when I reached it. For the time being, I had to assume that I would be operating without aid and planned accordingly. Once I spoke with Mioda and gleaned as much information as I could, I would leave all my supplies with her and run. I had to reach Veil Zekk, inform Reshad of what had occured, and race back as quickly as I could with food and more water. I didn't so much fear her actually starving as I did her discovery by wild animals or her tormenters. Were Zhenya available then things would be much easier, but if not then I could hire any mercenaries on the spot. From there…well, I figured I would keep watch over her until Reshad could figure out something. I tried not to think too much of how long it would be until some sort of solution was discovered, and forced myself to trudge through old memories that weren't mine to pass the time. Patience and discipline, I repeated to myself as the hours whittled away.

Mioda woke slowly and I didn't rush her. I could hear her stomach growling which was probably the cause of her waking - had her belly been full, she may very well have slept an entire day away. Due to the sparse vegetation in the immediate area, there was nowhere to forage for berries or edible roots for her. I could have ventured out further, but were I to do so, then why not just go straight back to Veil Zekk anyway? And so I had remained, watching the sun set and then rise again until that moment.

When Mioda spoke, her voice sounded strained and I had to help her drink some more of the water again before I could understand what she was saying. Most of the bottle was drained, and I tried to hide it front of her head. She would need to save some for my trip to town and back, and she somehow seemed so at peace that she wasn't likely to turn her head up and find the bottle in front of her; she was still lying on her stomach with her face directed out of the alcove.

What I did understand was a raspy 'thank you' and a half-hearted attempt to remark on what a burden it must be to wait around for her. She only said the last part reluctantly and I could tell that, even if she were normally the type to avoid relying on others for help, she was beyond the point of guilt by then. In fact, she didn't even bother asking why I was helping her despite her obvious intelligence and the newfound lucidity of her mind; it was as though she were ready to throw herself at the feet of any stranger passing by. I couldn't blame her.

Knowing that the clock was ticking on her empty stomach, I hesitated no longer in regard to the topic of her wellbeing.

"I will return to a town called Veil Zekk; you are in need of disinfectant, food and more water. When I return, I will bring others but I'll make sure they understand to keep their distance." I paused momentarily, not wanting to overwhelm her immediately after she woke up.

Despite her situation, there was a brief glow of humor in her eyes. "You'll know where to find me," she said in a voice that was weak enough to be considered a whisper.

Though she didn't appear quite happy enough to laugh at her own joke, I did, and I felt relieved that she didn't seem to be giving up. If her spirits were high enough for her to joke, then I figured they should be high enough for the tough questions.

"One of the flightless bird people, Reshad, is a powerful mage of their people's variety," I said. "He's the one I mentioned yesterday. If anyone can dispel these runes, it's him, but I will need some sort of information to pass on to him. He likely won't be able to help without knowing something of your case."

Although she had just slept for half a day, there was a weariness in Mioda's eyes at the sound of the question. I'd wager a guess that she had expected but still dreaded to answer. I gave her the time she needed to determine what she wanted to reveal and to conceal, and she readily accepted my willingness to wait without shyness. After what seemed like an eternity, she began speaking about her situation rather than her curse.

"I was a student on Azeroth. Not anymore, I suppose. But in Orgrimmar, of all places." Her speech was slow, and because she took her time it came out surprisingly clear. "I began learning the arcane late, and I found it easier to start in a place where I would meet fewer family friends and acquaintances. I transferred out before the Seige and everything was delayed. I tried to catch up and…well…one of the most important professors resigned when the Iron Horde first struck. He felt he was needed here."

"You followed him?" I asked her despite already having discerned that the answer was yes.

"He knew. He told me to stay but he knew. I felt…like…it was condescending. I wanted to show that even if I began late, I was competent. I came here, I ran quests with groups of other adventurers…I thought I would be like them."

It was a balancing act, trying to learn the information I felt most important without pushing and then distressing her. "And you ended up here in the Spires?"

She snorted her negation. "I arrived in Ashran, and then my professor ported a group of us to Talador. That's where I started. That's where…" Her voice trailed off unintentionally at first, likely a result of her needing to rest to breathe after the brief exchange. Her continued silence seemed intentional, however.

"You were abducted in Talador?" I asked, and she nodded in affirmation, still seemingly unconcerned about wiping her own face in the dirt. "Mioda, are you able to tell me who they are?"

In spite of whatever torture she had endured, she didn't shrink back or even wince. I could tell she was still hiding some information, but the fact that she at least gave me some of the truth displayed incredible courage considering what she'd been through. "The flying arakkoa. One of their groups found me and a group of other students and trainees." Mioda became distant for a moment as she appeared not to so much relive the events as to remember them vividly. "I was the only one who they were able to take alive."

"I am not surprised," I said with more anger in my voice than I had wished to show her. It was anger for her sake - the sake of this stranger - but I didn't want to expose her to too much negativity while she recovered.

"They brought me to somewhere here in the Spires. It is far from here. I walked for only a few days…" This time, her voice trailed off due to what seemed like actual hesitation.

Fearing her resolve might falter, I pressed again. Too early, perhaps, but the pressure of caring for another with so little support did finally drive my actions.

"What is this group of flying arakkoa?" I asked. "Reshad knows their ways inside and out; I am certain we can find a solution for you if he knows where to look."

Mioda closed her eyes, though not tightly and I sensed no fear on her. She was safe for the time being, well hidden in a place where there seemed to be little other than rocks and twisted trees. There weren't even any insects to be found.

"They're a splinter group from the adherents of Rukhmar," she confessed with much effort. "They follow a prophetess…Nerapa…but she commissions these experiments for more secular purposes."

Reining in my disdain, I refrained from commenting other than to mutter something about fanaticism and allowed Mioda to continue at her own pace. "I believe they want me to be a weapon…like a living bomb. I was handled by their blood golems, which is how they avoided the effects of the runes themselves." Despite her lack of energy, she reached up and held a hand over her face. She wasn't breaking down, but I could tell that she didn't want to be seen and turned away accordingly, though continued sitting close to her.

Given her reaction, I could tell that I had pushed her as far as I should; she would need to get some rest, even if she was out in the wilderness. I resolved to take this information to Reshad; he knows both breeds of his people through and through, and would likely be able to decipher what exactly this prophetess had done. On top of that, there was still the issue of food and possible medication for Mioda; I couldn't linger much longer.

"Mioda…I will take what you've told me to the good arakkoa at Veil Zekk right away. I believe I can leave the information with them to consider for the time being, and return to you with as many supplies as I can carry. I'll remain here at that point, and hopefully they'll figure out the solution by then."

Ever so slowly, she removed her hand from her face to look at me. There was no sadness in her eyes, though I felt a bit blue myself at her words.

"I suppose you need to leave, then," she sighed.

I was about to squeeze her hand once more when I remembered the engagement ring. "Mioda, what is your fiancé's name? Is he here?"

She dragged her hand in front of her face and gazed at the ring, though I had the feeling she was trying to surreptitiously shield her face again. In this case, however, I felt no apprehension over pushing her. Whatever the nature of their relationship, and whatever misgivings she may have now, the reality was that I would have difficulty helping her through this alone. Any person out there who was willing to help would be very much needed.

After some time, she answered. "Aneril. His first name is sufficient." She fell silent, apparently feeling that she'd said enough.

I laid my hand on hers one last time. "There is still some water and health potion here. Use them sparingly; I will bring more than enough once I return, and I will not waste time."

Nodding but saying nothing, Mioda exhaled deeply and seemed to sink even further into the dirt. One would think that she'd feel no need to rest after having slept half a day, but whatever she'd been through during her captivity had clearly worn on her, and she made no effort to move from her spot in the alcove.

Most assuredly, it was a painful farewell for her. I'd like to think our chance meeting granted her hope, and hope was painful. As an apprentice mage, such runes were certainly beyond her comprehension and she had no way of knowing how she would be cured. Hope brings with it the possibility of disappointment; the dichotomy is unavoidable. And as she nearly seemed to drift off again, I was sure that the dichotomy weighed heavy on her already exhausted mind. Not wanting to drag the anxiety out any longer than it needed to be, I said a brief goodbye and left the alcove, climbing out of the ancient sinkhole and moving in the direction of the main road. The run was not particularly long and my pieced-together body didn't have the same need for rest experienced by those of the living, but I knew the clock was ticking. For the first time since I'd been created, I understood what it felt like to have a purpose bigger than one's own self.


	4. Seeking Help

**A/N: no, I do not ever forget my stories. Unfortunately, life happens, but I spent time reviewing my notes for a few days to get back in the zone for continuing this. Things are hopefully on schedule and there are still some surprises in the story yet, though perhaps not how one might think.**

It has been weeks since I have looked at this manuscript again. For that, my dear reader, I have no valid excuse - just as I have no valid excuse for having waited two decades before finally committing to writing about the events of the summer of the year 31. It is one of my great regrets, as the story is one I promised Reshad I would tell the world, and I believe I am not even halfway done telling it. So in great earnest, I begin the next chapter of the story of the apprentice mage who left such an imprint on my existence.

I last left off in this manuscript at the time when I left Mioda for the first time. The look on her face is one as vivid in my mind today as it was twenty years ago: one of hope mixed with dread. Hope brings the possibility of disappointment, as I remember writing. And that knowledge only added to the pressure I felt to help the young mage as I ran.

Out of the sinkhole, out of the wilderness, onto the main road, not even stopping as I cut down a trio of saberons on the tip of my rapier, I ran. I ran because I felt like I had no time. Even if I no longer ate or drank, I remembered the feelings of hunger and thirst that seemed so abhorrent to me in undeath. It took hours for me to reach Veil Zekk, the flightless arakkoa town that was my destination, and I shall spare you the details of the trip - save one significant detail that couldn't have been more fortunate for my charge and Mioda's future.

Halfway on the trek back, one of the wicked flying arakkoa began to follow me. Soaring overhead, the wretch assumed that I wouldn't notice, and I allowed it to continue thinking that. Keeping track of its shadow, I slowed my pace and walked casually, waiting for it to approach as I repeated what Mioda had told me about their fanatical experiments in my head. Coupled with the general hostility all thinking people held toward the flying terrors, and I felt little remorse when I struck. It tried to dive bomb me, not realizing the quickness of my reflexes. I grabbed it by the talons in the most painful way possible and most assuredly broke its toes, then turned and dragged my blade along the sinews of one of its wings. It flapped and squaked as it hit the ground, screeching when I stabbed it through the opposite shoulder for good measure. The blood was excessive and I almost feared it would die too soon.

The arakkoa, despite being short lived, learn languages at an incredible rate. Most spoke all the languages of Draenor and just half a year in to the campaign, many of them had learned a few languages from Azerothian adventurers as well. This one in particular spoke passable Common, but used it only to hurl a smattering of religious curses at me, confirming in my mind that it was a scout from the cult in question. While I may possess martial experience, I lacked the stomach to actually beat the information out of the wounded wretch, and sufficed with a punishment that may have been worse. The arakkoa were terrible people to have as enemies, but like the tauren and night elves of Azeroth, they treated their own people much worse than their enemies in the event of punishment or betrayal. Handing the wretch over to the people of Veil Zekk would ultimately hold better chances of information being tortured out of it, and would lead to a more fitting punishment than my personal ethics allowed me to dole out.

So as I approached the hidden crossroads known as Veil Zekk, you can imagine the panic that shook the winged arakkoa prisoner when I passed the line of the cloaking spell that hid the town from view of unwanted enemies and dragged my captive in full view of a number of travelers, residents and the most feared warrior of the flightless bird people in that region.

Most of them were rather short, but Kurekk was my height and much, much broader, like the large raiders of the orcs. A Talon Guard, his kind were the protectors of his people's settlements as well as the enforcers of the law in their shattered society. The crowd of both natives of Draenor and travelers from Azeroth parted ways as he shuffled over, his heavy armor and robes (the robes were also armored) clinking at each step. The crowd jeered at the winged arakkoa, which shivered at the sight of Kurekk before the large bird man even said anything.

"Explain this, Valmar," the Talon Guard demanded politely but firmly, and I knew he was concerned about the possibility of triggering another series of back and forth revenge attacks like the ones of the past he had described to me before.

And so I did. I don't remember exactly what I said or how I worded it, but I quickly explained the story of how I found Mioda and what she had told me right there. At some point, Kurekk pulled me aside and ushered all the gawking onlookers away, wishing to keep the news discreet as was the habit of their people. The winged arakkoa continued to bleed out into the dirt road, and I spoke in rushed tones to ensure it would stay alive long enough for interrogation. Kurekk even told me to calm down at some point, and although I remember having been calm the whole time, I understand now that I may not have looked that way at the time.

"Please tell all of this to Reshad right now," Kurekk requested of me as he lifted the taller but lighter arakkoa in a single hand as though it were paper. The bird people didn't seem to have muscles so much as a series of tendons that pulled like the moving parts of s goblin shredder. Kurekk may not have made a good construction worker, but he always appeared able to move great weights with no visible strain. "I will deal with this miscreant after speaking to the other guards. But make sure to keep this between us; we don't yet know if this is a threat to our settlement or not."

At his words, I felt a twinge of annoyance spike up within me. The image of Mioda as I had found her ran through my mind, and that alone felt like reason enough to get involved. Regardless, I knew I couldn't make a dent in the secretive, reclusive culture of the bird people and didn't react to Kurekk's callousness. "Thank you for your aid," I said as congenially as possible as I walked further into the settlement and away from the circle of guards forming around the cowering prisoner.

True to their nature, the flightless arakkoa who had overheard the first part of my story went about their business, not wanting to know the details. Several gnomes and a goblin from Azeroth followed me for a ways begging to know what had happened until I lost them in the crowd - arakkoa settlements tended to be cramped and crowded - and searched for my Alliance comrade before Reshad, disobeying Kurekk's orders. Zhenya, a draenei who had crashed on Azeroth with most others of her kind, had proven a constant ally and reliable companion in the Spires ever since we found each other shortly after the war effort against the Iron Horde had begun. Some found it strange that a paladin like her who worshipped the Light stuck so loyally around an undead Forsaken myself, and in truth our friendship was rather strange. Especially considering that we couldn't speak to one another for too long without arguing about politics and factions. All I can say is: war makes strange bedfellows. When you're knee deep in sludge and slime monsters in the southern Spires, and all members of your own faction had been killed, and you fight for your life until you find yourself back to back, fighting alongside s stranger who had lost her entire raid group as well, and your skills complement each other so well that you actually both make it as the two soul survivors of a large scale pitched battle...well, let's just say thinking, intelligent individuals forget factional loyalties rather quickly.

But I digress.

Standing off to one side between a residential hut housing twenty bird people in only three rooms and a mountainside the town had been built in to, a seemingly inanimate suit of armor glistened in the late afternoon son. The color of gold, it was impossible heavy and as impenetrable as it looked, covering every inch of the wearer's body. We're it not for the hooves and horns poking out - and those were the only parts of her body uncovered - one would think it were simply a display.

"Zhenya, I need to talk to you," I said softly as I approached. She continued to pretend she didn't hear me, staying motionless. "Zhenya, I'm being serious," I repeated, waving a hand in front of her helmeted face. Her gold colored eyes must have been closed, as her eye holes looked dark from the outside. "Zhenya, I know you're awake, can you just listen to me?"

She coughed, and true to her behavior, she didn't even remove her helmet to clean it out or wipe her face. She always said she only needed to remove it if she sneezed, and I'm certain she said that just to get under my skin. Once she had given herself away, I shook her; she didn't budge, being shorter but wider and stronger than most draenei females, but it annoyed her as much as she had annoyed me and she dropped the act.

"I heard you." She opened her eyes and stared, waiting for me to speak next.

"Follow me right now," I urged as I unsuccessfully tried to drag her. My patchwork body had the strength of a similarly sized Orc or draenei male, but the woman was a powerhouse. "I'm being serious, I really, really need you to come see Reshad with me."

"I'm busy."

At that, I felt my irritation boil over, though I'd like to think I keep my cool better than the mortal races. Obviously since draenei were the longest lived race after us Forsaken - some of them could live longer than those among us who went hollow - she was the only person I've known who can push me that way, knowing all the buttons. "Zhenya, you are absolutely not busy!" I protested in the lowest voice I could muster to avoid drawing attention. "Come with me right now, I need help with this!"

Satisfied that she'd ticked off another day on her calendar where she caused me to become visibly agitated, she relented and followed with nary a word. Navigating our way through the shoulder to shoulder wall of bird people and Azerothians took a few minutes, and as I had hoped, word had already reached Reshad in a subtle manner about the scene caused by the winged arakkoa's arrival at the hidden settlement. The two of us had to be patted down and submit our weapons to another guard before ascending the steps to the local meeting hut. I didn't quite understand the system of governance of the bird people and I still don't, but from what little I picked up while on Draenor, the flightless ones were surprisingly egalitarian as were many shattered societies in crisis. Reshad held sway over the settlement not by inheritance or even appointment, but by simple unspoken consent of the locals; he was the Scrollkeeper, the master of lore in a culture that valued history, and because of that, he was able to indirectly direct the community that appeared to function according to rules without the need for enforcement.

He waited in the hut with a few older looking locals, facing toward us before we even finished walking up the steps. "Please, take a stand," he greeted us warmly. Due the their physiology - again, tendons rather than muscles - the bird people were comfortable standing for hours on end, and had little use for chairs. Just another cultural difference one had to adapt to when staying among them. "I have been told that you encountered a zealot from a group our community has had a blood feud with for quite some time."

"I captured one of their own and brought it here," I explained as Zhenya listened on, finally paying attention. "It refused to speak to me, but I hope that Talon Guard Kurekk could glean some useful information from it."

"Your captive is already dead, from the interrogation," Reshad stated plainly.

I felt a lump in my throat. As much as I detested the winged bird people in general and those who had victimized Mioda in particular, I still detested the thought of what might have been done to the wretch that caused it to die in the few minutes it took my to find Zenya and bring her to the meeting hut. Before I could speak, Reshad continued, as always speaking in so dignified and certain a manner that all fell silent whenever he opened his beak.

"My question to you is: what use is it for which you want this information?" he asked in his impeccable Common despite having learned the language only a month or two beforehand.

If I could inhale, I would have done so deeply at that time. "I was running one of those quests you asked me to undertake...I don't think I even remember which one it was, now. Off the main road, I found an old sinkhole behind a small forest of leafless trees. It's a few hours away by foot. I found a young woman there, from Azeroth. She had been hurt..." I found that part difficult to say out loud, and sufficed with glossing over the details of how badly she had been victimized. "She was near death."

"That is Mioda? That's her name, correct?" the Scrollkeeper asked.

"Yes, that's correct."

"And she claims she had been kidnapped by the Adherents of Rukhmar?"

"No, by a splinter group from that sect. They're led by one called Nerapa," I explained, and the expression of one of the elder's hardened. "Do you know of such a person?"

"I knew her personally," Reshad replied in a voice that betrayed no emotion.

"Alright, well...Mioda's skin was covered in runes. They're not like anything I've ever see, but she says these blood golems handled her-"

"You said Nerapa's people did this to her," the second elder interrupted, more from worry than rudeness in retrospect.

"Well, they had to have the golems do it, because the runes explode upon contact with living sentients."

"Winged arakkoa are sentient," the second elder stated, much to my further annoyance.

"I know that. I understand that. That's why they had to have the golems handle her, apparently. Nobody who is living can come near her; she is a living bomb." When the elder appeared satisfied, I tried to finish. "I am almost certain they intended to use such a weapon against settlements such as this; I doubt they care much about Azerothians either way. That's why I am hoping you would know of a cure for the runes."

Everyone stood quiet for a moment, considering what I had said. When Reshad broke the silence, he said something which was a reasonable question to ask and not surprising to him, but which I would hurtful to listen to nonetheless.

"And you believe what this Mioda person told you?" he asked me in a polite tone.

Thankful that my undeath precluded heart rates, breaths to be hitched or snorts to be made, I collected myself and worked to repress how much the question offended me regardless of Reshad's intentions. "One hundred percent," I said without hesitation. "Look, I saw her. I saw how the runes shone unnaturally. I saw...how badly they had tortured her. Trauma might cause her to hide how bad her experience really was, but I saw her condition. She couldn't be making it up."

Not yet convinced, Reshad continued a similarly callous viewpoint to that of Kurekk. In retrospect again, I can't blame him considering his people's precarious situation, but at the time he said it I felt angry at the man for the first time. "Valmar, you know my people specialize in the school of illusion more than any other school of magic," he started, and I could tell he was choosing his words carefully. "We manipulate images, auras, sounds, smells, even reality itself for the most powerful. It is not beyond many of us to create such a scene. You can not always trust what you see."

"I don't always trust what I see! I take the proper precautions..." I stopped as I felt Zhenya tug at the sleeve of my coat, and tried not to take the comment personally. "Mioda is a blood elf. They specialize in destructive magic, some of them in healing magic, but not illusion."

"Do not underestimate the lies and trickery my people are capable of. Are you sure she is even an elf?" Reshad asked quietly, and the two elders pretended to make themselves busy at a table of scrolls in the corner. The air in the room changed, and I know now that it was because of me, not Reshad. "Are you even sure that she was real? If you tell me you are sure, I will always help you, just as you've helped us. But I want you to clear your mind, and think long and hard about this. Are you sure that you believe what you saw?"

I pretended to think for a moment, but even back then, I knew I didn't have to. Once I felt enough time had elapsed to satisfy him, I nodded. "Beyond a shadow of a doubt," I added for good measure.

"Very well...we will treat this as a legitimate threat for the time being," he said while ambling over to the table next to his two counterparts. "We will need to consult the histories to be exactly sure of what we're facing. And if this woman is in as bad of a condition as you believe, you will need to bring her supplies. Under no circumstances is she to approach the town. I say that for your protection more than anyone else's."

"I understand. Zhenya and I will keep watch over her out there-"

"I already had plans to leave within the hour!" Zhenya exclaimed, showing more emotion than she had in a week.

"Cancel them."

"No, this might work out in our favor, actually," Reshad interjected. "She's going to Talador on our behalf. I was informed that this woman was abducted in Talador, yes?"

Suddenly understanding his point, I felt even better despite preferring to have the stalwart paladin along for the trip. "That's correct. And the blood elf population is high there. Mioda, she has a fiancé named Aneril, who I understood is someone of note among their people. Her professor from the academy is on Ashran, and if other classmates of hers stayed behind, they might also be interested in helping."

"We will need such help," the voice of Kurekk squaked from behind us, his heavy armor making no sound as he surprised Zhenya and I both. "If Nerapa is involved, we could be looking at a conflict on a wider scale than just a missing person. And of the green eyed people will help, we may have a chance to strike her sect down for good."

While I wouldn't describe the feeling that took over the air as excitement, there was certainly a form of relief and motivation about. I probably felt it stronger than most, but I noticed a definite change in them all. After having worried I'd be trying to nurse a permanent exile from society all by myself, it seemed that Mioda might actually have a larger group of people possibly willing to help.

"I will need to buy food, water and disinfectant before I leave," I remembered to tell the group in general before everyone dispersed. "And if possible, I would prefer to find someone to come along and stand watch just outside the area. If I found one of the zealots lurking around, there may be more."

"I met a few mercenaries when making arrangements at the flight point a few hours ago," Zhenya chimed in, reminding me of why she was such a great companion despite her penchant for bothering everyone who treated her kindly. She turned to leave, and everything seemed to fall into place. "I'll try to catch them now."

"We have the supplies you need in storage. You've helped us by bringing this threat to our attention. I can remove some and have them packed for you before you leave." After giving nod to the elders, Kurekk left for the storage hut. I took it as an indication that he was grateful for the information but wouldn't be coming with me. A shame, as either he or Zhenya would have been more capable than half a dozen of most mercenaries, but at that point I was willing to take what I could get.

Reshad returned to the table, motioning for the other guards to give me my sword back. "My colleagues and I have much to study in your absence. Please, push this Mioda person a little more insistently for what exactly Nerapa did to her. We need as much information as possible both to neutralize any further threat and to possible help this elf herself. If she has to divulge details that make her uncomfortable, then so be it."

"Thank you Reshad. I mean it."

He cut me off before I could continue to gush, in a way which was highly uncharacteristic of me and likely made the old buzzard feel awkward. "As do I. Go. You don't want her to be alone for too long."

By the time I had fetched the needed supplies from Kurekk and reached the flight point, Zhenya was already waiting with three shifty eyed mercenaries who looked almost bored. When I approached, their eyes lit up, and despite their amateurish appearances I was at least relieved that they were eager for work. Two squat but sturdy looking orcs and perhaps the meanest, most grizzled human I'd ever seen stood next to her, another reminder of how factional antagonism had waned so much between the Alliance and the Horde.

"I explained everything to them, and they've already been paid, so don't let them ask for any more coin," Zhenya whispered to me as I came close. The three of them all tried to pose as if showing off their supposed prowess in battle, which did no more to reassure me than did hearing their ridiculous handles. "This is Wrecking Ball and the Hulk," she said while pointing to the two orcs, "and that's Stabby Steve."

I didn't know whether to laugh at the pedantic nicknames or tell Zhenya to ask for her money back. None of them looked too bright and like most soldiers of fortune, their gear was sub par. As if reading my thoughts, Zhenya leaned in to whisper again. "I paid, not you. Beggars can't be choosers, so take them or leave them."

She was right and I knew it, and I knew that I had no time to waste. Mioda was still out there, and by the time I could reach her, she would have been without water again for half a day and without food for...well, a few days. Thanking Zhenya as she flew to Talador, I turned to the three overly enthusiastic mercenaries and would have signed were I physically capable.

We hurried out of Veil Zekk and back toward the north, believing things would be fine on a simple trip of a few hours. But they weren't.


	5. Progress

To my chagrin but not my surprise, the mercenaries Zhenya had hired to accompany me were worth about as much as the pittance she had paid them. They had no mounts and appeared to understand little of tracking, searching or even camping in general. Were I to have left them there in the wilderness, they would have starved. But they offered to carry the supplies for me, which left my hands free and was, at least, an appreciated gesture.

We maintained a rather quick pace once the four of us had left Veil Zekk, and none of the three men complained. So there's another thing I appreciated about them at the time. The living tended to tire out rapidly, and even Zhenya often complained when we went questing and I wasn't in the mood for taking a break. The shorter, less talkitive orc known as 'the Hulk' apparently felt like showing off and swung his elbows just a little too far out as he jogged, furrowing his brow in far too much seriousness considering how little I'd told the three of them about Mioda's plight. They wouldn't have understood well anyway, and I might have become irritated at the string of questions they were likely to have repeated.

Wrecking Ball, the second orc, got on surprisingly well with the human...ugh...Stabby Steve. Just writing those names on paper seems ridiculous. Anyway, the fact that the two of them got along so well meant that I was largely spared from any sort of inane rambling. As we made our way down the road and toward the point where I would venture into the wilderness and they would wait, I trained my vision to the skies above. I had already encountered one of the zealots from this splinter sect; I had already expected the others before I even saw them coming.

It couldn't have been more than two hours before I saw them off in the distance. Flight is a powerful advantage, and none of my three companions noticed at all as the five winged arakkoa soared above. They dipped in and out of view as they tried to use the edges of the twisted canopy to conceal themselves from our fields of vision; at some points, they hung so far away that they almost disappeared into the depressing dark orange skies.

Reviewing what I knew of their behavior, I devised a plan to trick them into attacking us so that we could eliminate them quickly. It would involve using ourselves as bait, and I didn't entire trust my hired companions to execute the plan properly; they almost felt like liabilities in any situation other than carrying things for me and waiting in case I needed extra pairs of hands. They were all I had, though, and so they would have to do.

"Guys, I need to all to step over here for a moment," I remember saying, or something to that effect. I walked beneath the short canopy of the twisted trees just off the main road, beckoning for them to follow.

Much to my chagrin, Wrecking Ball and Stabby Steve were too engaged in their conversation with one another and didn't heed my call at first. The Hulk waddled over, possibly not even noticing what was going on or even paying attention to his surroundings. The human and the other orc remained standing on the road.

"What's going on, mister…boss?" Wrecking Ball asked, obviously having forgotten my name.

"We're being followed. If we hide beneath the trees, we might be able to draw our pursuers closer and strike."

My explanation couldn't have been clearer, and yet Wrecking Ball took only one step forward before noticing that Stabby Steve didn't follow. The human's thick brown furrowed beneath the short front of his mullet, and I already knew to expect resistance from the low paid sellsword.

"Let them fight us face to face, man to man!" the human bellowed in loud defiance despite not even knowing who was following us. "I'm ready!" He pulled out his knives as if to show how serious he was, and I distinctly felt that he was the type who would ask for extra money at the end of our journey due to his overly enthusiastic demeanor.

But the bird people apparently had surprises in store even for myself. I had assumed they'd merely scout overhead a bit more while searching for us beneath the trees before landing; scout troops tended not to prefer direct engagement. But as I found, the fanatics were much bolder than I had anticipated. Wrecking Ball looked torn between supporting his scruffy friend and following the one he'd been paid to follow when all five of the winged arakkoa fanatics struck.

The human had only a second to yelp as he was dive bombed by five whirls red, yellow and orange plumage. At a speed that likely endangered even the arakkoa themselves, they landed directly on top of Stabby Steve but without making a noise as they landed lightly, knocking him to the ground and causing Wrecking Ball to dive for the bushes. In several quick movements, the bird people picked the unfortunate human rogue apart with their beaks, talons and curved daggers, bobbing up and down as if they were trying to catch apples from a bucket of water. Blood splattered and gore spilled before I could reach them, dooming the human I'd met less than three hours before. As much as I had disliked traveling with them, the rogue had only been following orders I'd given him and hadn't even done anything wrong to the winged arakkoa; rage fueled my actions more than focus as four of them fell under my blade.

So fast was the skirmish that I didn't notice the fifth had snuck out of my view until its talons gripped my shoulders. The creature overestimated the strength of its own light body, however, and proved unable to lift me. Its attempt to peck at my head left it with a severed beak, and as it rolled on the ground in muted pain I noticed the cheap axes and swords strewn about.

Far off in the distance, further down the road and in the opposite direction of Veil Zekk, I could see the outlines of two cowardly, fleeing orcs disappearing into the dark of the rapidly approaching night. I must admit, I had to fight off the urge to shout immature taunts at them as they left, such was my anger at that point. Looking back two decades on, I suppose I can't blame them. I told them nothing of Mioda's plight, Zhenya had paid them embarrassingly little and they'd just watched the most experienced of their group ripped to pieces before their very eyes.

None of that crossed my mind, at the time. My two hired companions had left me, though they at least had the courtesy to toss the supplies in a bush instead of stealing them (they were likely too frightened to think straight by that point). The sole surviving bird fanatic had ended up with a severed beak and tongue, and couldn't have given up information even if I had possessed the stomach for torturing it (which I didn't anyway). And to top it all off, it was dark outside and I knew my charge was still out there, hiding under an earthen overhang, hungry and alone.

There was very little I could do about Stabby Steve. I knew nothing about him and knowing Zhenya rather well, I was sure she either hadn't asked him about his next of kin or any sort of address and wouldn't have listened had he told her. His remains were too mangled for any sort of a proper burial, and blood stains smelled awful and were difficult to remove. I used a log to sweep his body parts along with those of the four dead arakkoa off the main road, keeping his in a separate spot. Using once slice, I disabled the surviving winged arakkoa but didn't kill it immediately; cruel, yes, but I now had yet another reason not to pity them at all. After saying what prayers I could remember from a past life, I found nothing else to do – no lesson learned, no profound message in the death of a hired stranger, and so I collected the supplies and weapons and took my leave.

The walk through the wilderness to Mioda's hiding place felt lonelier than it had before. I have no explanation for that, unfortunately; whether it was the sense of loss having been robbed of my assistants or the knowledge of how long she'd been alone in the dark, I do not know even now. But aside from the cricket-like insects of Draenor chirping, I found very little to occupy my mind with on the long walk through the forest of leafless trees.

My footsteps may have been louder than usual, because as I approached the familiar spot, I heard no signs of Mioda's presence. It was as if she held her breath at my approach, which was actually the smart thing to do; she'd have no way of knowing if someone was passing by close enough to trigger the runes on her skin, and trying to warn potentially hostile travelers would just as likely result in her getting shot as her scaring them off.

Before I came into view, I called out her name to announce my presence. In retrospect, it wasn't necessary; if the runes did indeed function properly, had already come so close that they would have triggered had I been alive. Although she was fully awake and alert, she didn't respond until the second time I called her name, perhaps due to shock.

When I sat beneath the earthen awning, roots and shrubs dangling overhead, I found it difficult to see her at first. Putting herself at risk, she used what little mana she had left to cast some sort of a light generation spell, providing just enough for us to see each other in her little hiding spot but not enough to attract attention from outside. Her face was pulled in worry, though it was heartening in a way as it was the most animated I'd seen her up to that point. In the exact same position I'd left her, she lied on her stomach, one cheek in the dirt and tucked as far against the wall as she could be. The dirt that had once stained her face had dried and darkened, and the blood stains on her ragged clothing looked as if they had been there for ages. Her breathing was more controlled, but I could tell by her swollen fingers that she was dehydrated. Her stomach growled at the sight of the burlap sack I carried.

"You need to eat something small and dry before you drink," I told her, wracking my memories for experience caring for dehydrated soldiers. "Once you get a bit of food in you, try to drink slowly."

Only nodding her face in the dirt, Mioda followed the advice and nibbled on a cracker. At least she appeared well rested; having been alone in a dirt hole in the side of a sinkhole for so long, she probably didn't find much else to do other than sleep. Remembering her manners, she thanked me for coming back with a mouth full of crackers, and I patted her on the back and told her to finish eating. She neither bristled at or leaned in to my touch; indeed, her lack of expressions or reactions to anything gave the impression that she had become numb, almost a bit cold, from her experience.

When she finished a few more crackers, I gave her one of the bottles of distilled water I'd brought. This time, she didn't gulp it down dangerously quick in spite of the layer of cracked skin over the top of her lips; she must have understood that after having been denied for a long period, her body would need to take it easy while being nursed back to some semblance of health. For the first time, I even saw Mioda prop herself up on one elbow to eat and drink more comfortably. She didn't quite have enough room to actually raise up more than a few inches – indeed, I couldn't even actually sit inside the alcove due to how low it was – but the movement was an improvement. Her long sleeves covered her arms but hung loosely, as if she'd lost a large amount of weight in a short amount of time. Her knuckles protruded from her thin hands as she took a bit of bread and cheese; many of the scratches I'd seen when I'd first found her looked like they had healed up most of the way.

When she ate her fill, she thanked me again and continued to lay in the dirt. There was something different in her eyes, however. It was a sort of concern I hadn't seen when I'd first met her. At that time, she had looked absolutely hopeless and despondent, almost like she didn't even care if she lived or died. But this time, she looked up at me in concern; it was the expression of someone who wanted to ask questions but felt shy to do so. Obviously, she was hoping for news.

"I spoke to the flightless bird people at the town nearby," I remember telling her. Bleary, perhaps impaired eyes focused just a little bit more at the news. "Reshad, their leader, is researching a cure for the runes. The winged and flightless arakkoa share a common ancestor, a language and cultural similarities. Since their technology is known to each other, they hope they can figure out how to get rid of the spell on you."

For a few seconds she didn't answer, and I didn't know if she had been overcome by emotion or was simply in a state of shock. Brow furrowed in a sort of negative-positive combination of feelings, Mioda spoke in slow tones. "Do you think they will really find a way to fix this?"

"If anybody can, it will be Reshad and his associates," I tried to reassure her. "They're researching the matter as we speak, though they asked for…more information."

It was only then that I realized I would have to leave Mioda alone again. The initial plan had been for me to keep watch over her while dispatching one of the mercenaries back to Veil Zekk to check on the progress in finding a cure. One of them died and the other two fled; since nobody else at Veil Zekk at that time happened to be undead, there was no way any of them could stay with Mioda anyway. Once again, I would have to abandon her to the wilds in order to merely find out what developments had taken place. If only Zhenya or Kurekk had come along instead of three poorly trained garrison followers.

But I digress once more. Mioda didn't know all of those details. And while I can't say her spirits appeared good, she did appear less bad than before. Pursing her lips and lying down again, she asked me the difficult question.

"Did you bring anybody with you?"

A stark choice faced me. I could tell her the truth: yes, three hired men came with me and they couldn't stand up to the fanatics of the winged arakkoa, who are likely trying to find you and take you back at this very moment. Or, I could tell her the lie: no, I'm an idiot who came back by myself thus dooming you to spending another day alone while I run back and forth constantly.

Either way, Mioda would have to wait alone; there was no reason to let her wait in fear, and so I lied.

"No, unfortunately. I have two associates – one a paladin and the other one of the locals – who will come with me next time. This time, I couldn't find anyone to help."

She took the news well, but her slow nod told me that she did feel disappointed and was fully aware of the fact that I'd be leaving her again. This only added to the pressure; not only was she experiencing a bit of anxiety over another night by herself, but there were also the lingering questions in the back of my mind that Reshad had pushed me to ask. I knew very little of the details of what had happened to her, and I would need to know more if there were to be any helping her. I trusted Reshad's knowledge fully, which is why I needed to ask for details from her instead of leaving him to pour over ancient tomes: he had said himself that he needed more information.

Attempting to soften the coming blow, I tried to engage in more idle banter. "The supplies are quite plentiful – complements of the locals of Veil Zekk. There's quite a bit of food, drink and whatnot inside. They also put first aid, a blanket three potions." I took time showing her each item as I listed everything in detail, trying to take her mind off of the coming vigil she'd spend by herself.

As grateful as I could tell she was, Mioda was also very sharp. The fact that she thanked me again showed how crestfallen she'd become, finding little else to say. Part of me wanted to believe that asking detailed questions about her condition would give her more hope. The more Reshad knew, the better he'd be able to help her; I pledged to listen to her story as clinically as possible in order to give the impression that I knew what I was talking about, and to reassure her that a cure would be found by people who actually did know what they were talking about.

After a minute or so of small talk about topics I can no longer remember, I broached the major sticking point. There was no turning back by then. "Mioda…the flightless arakkoa wish to know more about what exactly these people did. I know that it might be hard, so you can skip some details. But in a technical sense, they were insistent that I find out the…how do you say…process that took place so they can better understand how to reverse it."

Long, weathered, formerly graceful eyebrows dirtied by soot held motionless in the air as she considered the question. What I assumed had preoccupied her was apprehension at the request to revisit obviously painful memories. Her perception, once again, proved surprisingly sharp and she caught me off guard.

"They don't believe my story," she sighed. Not a hint of surprise laced the sound of her voice, and I could almost feel her heart proverbially sink so heavily that it pulled mine down with hers. I don't actually have a heart nor blood, but I believe the metaphor is easily understood.

My shock and her resignation are both visit in my mind even until today. Mioda was absolutely correct; Reshad had expressed skepticism at her story. My attachment to her case fueled my reaction, and once again I lied for her sake.

"No, by the Light no," I forced myself to say in order to salvage what little hope had been built up within her. "It's only for scientific purposes, I can assure you. They wouldn't take the matter so seriously were they still doubtful."

Even now, I have no way of knowing if she believed me or not. It felt so unfair at the time. Looking back, I understand Reshad's skepticism; all arakkoa were masters of illusion magic the likes of which was unseen on Azeroth. But at the time, I could only feel the sting as Mioda somehow got the hint that those I had appealed to for help suspected that she might have been making it all up. Or that she wasn't even real. But I knew, more than I'd known anything up until my necromantic creation, that she hadn't made up a word. She did hold things back, but what she did let slip hadn't been fabricated.

If Mioda believed the lie, the she told me what she did next because there was some sliver of hope within her that she could be cured, and no longer a danger to all the living people she encountered. If she knew of my dishonesty, then she truly must have been desperate for some form of comfort after everything she had gone through. Although the former prospect wasn't as bleak as the latter, her situation was pitiful either way.

In cautious, clicking tones of a mentally and physically exhausted person retelling horrors via a parched tongue, Mioda opened up. She gave details sparingly at first, and the conversation was so circular and plodding that I can no longer recall the exact words. That isn't because of the time that has elapsed; even by the next day, I wouldn't be able to restate what she had told me exactly the way she had stated it herself. Back and forth, I had to play a game of chess to glean information from her without pushing her harder than she was ready for. Pieces of her story were repeated more than twice, and she even mixed up some of the minor details as her fatigue affected her thought process.

Despair, interestingly enough, did not affect her. The more Mioda spoke, the more I realized how broken she had become. When it came to the grittier aspects of what had been done to her, she actually didn't appear to be frightened or traumatized; she was just numb. Empty and numb. And it was that chilling numbers which I found so unnerving at the time that enabled her to speak.

Nerapa, the leader of the cult that split off from the Adherents of Rukhmar, was only slightly unstable. For the most part, the winged woman was calculated and a political mastermind. Mioda had spent most of her time under the direct observation of the prophetess, being watched and interrogated uncaringly as the three day long process took place. From what Mioda had picked up, Nerapa's followers were absolutely dedicated to the sect but the prophetess herself was rather lax and likely a charlatan exploiting even her own people. Her main concern was not transformation - which the adherents themselves constantly repeated like drones in their broken Low Common as they carried out the process - but rather, continuing her political blood feud against the residents of Veil Zekk. Nerapa was cynical, sociopathic and shallow.

The true intent was for Mioda to become a living weapon. So little did the winged bird people regard her that they spoke of their plans right in front of her and even to her at times. They never behaved in an abusive sense nor did they insult her; she was treated as a piece of meat, an instrument for Nerapa to achieve her goals. Truth be told, Mioda claimed that she didn't even feel that the cult disliked her; she was nothing to them other than a vessel.

And it was because of that distant, aloof depersonalization that they were able to undertake a process so exceedingly cruel. My undead skin crawled as Mioda explained the process to me clinically, as though it had happened to someone else, yet the constant glow of the runes on her skin informed me that it was indeed her own experience. Forgive me, dear reader, but I find it difficult to recount the process in its entirety without affecting my emotional state. No matter that twenty summers have passed; my anger at what Nerapa had done never left me even after all this time. The most I can say is that the process had multiple steps involving the tool for etching the runes piercing the surface of her skin. Vices were used to prevent her from moving save to close her eyes; Nerapa cared not whether Mioda chose to watch as the hours long 'treatments' took place.

The pain, as Mioda described it, was beyond excruciating. Eventually, her inability to move almost made it easier for her and though she didn't come out and say it, she insinuated that she ended up cooperating for the last few steps. Apparently, the physical pain was easier to deal with if she forced her heart to accept it as something inevitable and to be gotten over with. Her reaction wasn't normal, but there is no doubt in my mind that a normal person would have thrashed, fought and gone mentally ill from the who,e ordeal. It may have been poor Mioda's somewhat fatalistic and submissive nature that helped her to endure the process in the first place.

At one point, I distinctly heard a tear in my expensive felt gloves, such was the force with which I clenched my fist. My body had no hormones, nor a pulse, and yet I experienced something similar to the increase in heart rate I remember from my brain's six sets of memories from before undeath. Until today, I do believe there is something immaterial and incorporeal about emotions that even an undead, immortal being such as myself can experience. It took me a while to calm down after hearing all that Nerapa had done to this woman, the sole surviving member of a group of young apprentices, mere students who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Sensing my negativity, Mioda fell silent as well and gave me the time necessary to calm down. After a few minutes during which she drank some more water, I made a promise upon which I was willing to stake my entire worth as a trustworthy being.

"I will find Nerapa and the rest of the people who did this to you," I swore in a low voice. "Both me and Reshad and our allies. They have an old blood feud and a vendetta against this sect - this is reason enough for them to act."

Yet Mioda was always one step ahead, always so sharp, always catching me off guard. It was sobering in a way; it was not normal for me to behave in such a hot blooded manner, and the battered woman's depressing realism kept me grounded.

"You need to go again," she droned, once more sounding detached.

It took me a moment to switch my train of thought so radically, especially to a topic I wished not to think of. Struggling for some way to grant her just another small sliver of hope and solace, I sought to delay my departure as much as possible. "Reshad may need a bit longer to research your case - his work is always being interrupted by the needs of his people and adventurers like you and me. You have supplies here to last for a few days, and I can forage for you while we give him time to finish his work." Without knowing why and breaking my own rules of propriety - one of my sets of memories did belong to an elf like her, after all - I held her hand to comfort her. "I can spend the next day here. You won't be alone and we can see how much more information I can memorize for our search for your academic connections."

My speech was stream of consciousness and not entirely coherent at that point, but her interest had been piqued by my comment. When I saw that she didn't know what I meant, I realized that I had left out one important detail, and so continued. "My associate, the paladin, is probably landing in Talador as we speak. She got the description of your professor and student group as well as your fiancé's name."

"No...that won't help," Mioda replied quickly with a shake of her head.

"Mioda, every little bit of help we can get is significant," I tried to reason with her. "Even in terms of keeping you supplied and taken care of while Reshad finds a cure, I could use the support of others."

I could already feel her heart sink again, against my best intentions. "Aneril...and I did not part on the best of terms. Please, he can't be involved in this. Not after what happened between us, and...to me."

There was obviously quite a bit of drama there that I was unaware of, and out of respect for her privacy I didn't push to try and become aware of it. That didn't mean that I couldn't play the outside observer, though. "Whatever the situation may be, we have to try. Your case is...dire, Mioda. Even if he can help from afar, perhaps assist in avenging your fallen classmates, we aren't in a position to refuse."

Her fel green eyes had begun to glow again as her mana returned to her, making it easier to see them fall downcast. Regardless of whatever she felt internally - I am certain that the kept much of her sentiments regarding Zhenya's search for Aneril a secret - she at least didn't argue.

When she fell silent for a long time and then switched the relatively mundane topic of her many cuts, bruises and injuries and how to apply first aid to herself, I happily obliged. Talking about things other than her abduction, affliction and cure appeared to help her to relax and calm down a little bit. We continued to talk until sleep overtook her once again, her internal clock maladjusted due to her condition. For much of the time she spent asleep, I replayed the images of Nerapa's callous experimentation on Mioda's body in my head. I don't know why I did it; it provided absolutely no solution to the problem and only caused me stress for the hours I spent alone due to my inability and lack of need to sleep. By the time Mioda began to stir just before dawn, I realized that I had spent much of the night fantasizing about committing acts of violence against the cult and needed quite a bit of time to calm myself down enough for normal conversation.

Very little of note was said until I left. We chatted, shared theories on how she would be cured and planned and revisited the plans for what she would do in case she was found, how she could administer first aid to herself if needed and how she would best apportion her rations. By the time I was ready to leave again a day later, she seemed preoccupied enough for me to leave her without any despair in her eyes, and even my own spirits were raised up as I prayed to the God so few of us Forsaken believed in that either Reshad or Zhenya would bear good news when I arrived back at the hidden town.


	6. Perception

**A/N: sorry for the formatting error on the previous version of this chapter; hopefully it will show up properly now. Big thanks to Kintaraheart for alerting me to the problem.**

Even as I sit over this empty tome today, I can recall the sensation of numbness I felt after leaving Mioda alone for the second time. It's a strange thing to feel, numbness; it's essentially a lack of feeling more than anything, but whatever one prefers to label it as, I can remember it vividly even right now.

It's for the better, I suppose. It's been far too long since I've committed the proper amount of time to finally penning this story, and as I find myself alone at the literary club – everyone else has long since gone home but as one of the founders, I have my own key – there could be no sensation more fitting. Memory is a strange thing. After all this time, I can feel the effect that Mioda and her story had on me but there is no denying that some details have been forgotten; a few more may have been remembered incorrectly. But as I sit back in the chair and let the tingling sensation signaling a lack of feeling inside my fingertips, I feel as if I can recall those events on Draenor even more vividly.

The second time I left Mioda alone felt far more difficult than the first. The first time, I suppose I may have been in a sort of dream-like state, believing what she said intuitively but being too dumbstruck by it all to fully comprehend the task I had to undertake. Not that I felt her to be a burden, mind you; it was just a trying task. Once the first encounter was over, I had been certain that I wouldn't need to leave her alone again; having to abandon her in the wilds for a second time just left me feeling hollow. It didn't hurt; it didn't quite feel like anything. For the several hours that I jogged back to Veil Zekk, I don't remember experiencing anything other than the sensation of the mild heat at nightfall. Perhaps I thought of the possibilities while she was out there alone: if highway robbers triggered her explosive runes, if wild non-sentient animals discovered her hiding spot…or if those scouts that had attacked my hired followers earlier had comrades on the prowl.

Oh, and that I needed to save up and buy a mount. My body is incapable of feeling tired, but the large amount of running back and forth became a boring hassle.

After hours of mostly empty, wasted time, I approached the seemingly empty crossroads that marked the place of Veil Zekk. Doing the math based on how much time I'd spent with Mioda and how much time I'd spent running, I guessed it had been a day and a half since I'd last left the hidden arakkoa town. Although it wasn't a particularly long period of time, I knew that Reshad and his associates at the town were among the most knowledgeable of the mages of the bird people. There was no reason to be pessimistic, especially when it would do nothing to solve the current problem that needed to be solved.

Crowded as always, Veil Zekk was full of activity even at night. At least half of the people milling about were the wingless arakkoa bird people, both locals and merchants from other towns. There were a handful of other natives including a few saberon, strangely enough, and quite a few travelers and adventurers from Azeroth. Much to my relief, I saw the gold colored armor and heard the clopping of hooves before I got very far, and managed to pick Zhenya out of the crowd.

She waved me down, uncharacteristically helpful – though to be fair, she had already been quite helpful in offering to fly all the way to Talador. Such a flight in and of itself took roughly an entire day, and she probably had to use her hearthstone to get back. Hearthstones were an entirely Azerothian invention, and obtaining them for various locations on Draenor was difficult and expensive; that she had used hers to assist – likely more as a favor to myself than to Mioda, whom Zhenya didn't know – was touching.

"I have a lead," she told me before I could even open my mouth. If there was one nice thing about working with her in general, it's that no pleasantries were necessary and she detested wasting time.

"Good! Thanks, that's good news. What is it?"

"There's a lot of commotion at central Talador right now because of some sort of event, an orphan's benefit show, being organized by members of both the Alliance and the Horde. It isn't officially sanctioned by either faction, but there are a lot of people on both sides, especially blood elves and my people. I didn't make it that far north but I believe some of the blood elves toward the south have heard of the group of students who disappeared, and they know that they're being looked for."

If I had a heart, it would have jumped for joy at the news; a number of the blood elves had lived on Draenor in our own timeline and ostensibly would be somewhat familiar with the forms of magic used by the natives of the planet. And even if they couldn't help to search for a cure for the explosive runes, they could at least help us to track down the cult that had abused Mioda, punish them for what they'd done and ensure that they couldn't do it to anybody else.

"Did you receive any names?" I remember having asked a little excitedly. "Aneril; did you hear of anybody named Aneril?"

If Zhenya thought my eagerness strange, she didn't let on, and continued our conversation on the side of one of the crowded dirt roads as dryly as she usually tended to speak. "No, not that name specifically. But I did get the names of a certain Professor Seraph who functioned as an adviser to their group as well as Orolin, some sort of knight hired to look after a handful who weren't on the trip and thus are safe and sound."

"Professor Seraph…that must be the teacher that Mioda mentioned," I remember either repeating out loud or at least in my head. At that point I was so eager that it's difficult to judge my own perceptions.

"I still haven't met any of these people face to face – not the professor, not the new chaperone and not the remaining students. Somebody still needs to fly even further north to find them."

Her usage of the word 'somebody' echoed in my mind. So far, Zhenya had been incredibly helpful, just as she had been ever since we'd first met under less than fortunate circumstances. Regardless, I understood that altruism was not a part of her nature; she wouldn't be compelled to assist me to assist Mioda any further if her whimsical self didn't want to. I let it slide, knowing that there was little I could do about that specific point.

Talon Guard Kurekk waited for us on the steps of the main structure where we had met with the local elders previously, watching silently but standing conspicuously enough that we'd notice him. Ever the subtle arakkoa, he didn't actually wave us over but I could tell that he expected us to approach. Not needing to say anything more to Zhenya, I casually made my way through the crowd and she followed, about as subtle as a large draenei wearing gold plated armor could be. Every bit as quiet as her, Kurekk led us inside without a word, though in his case the lack of talking was considered more normal for his people, rather than an odd quirk as was Zhenya's case, but I digress.

Inside the main room, Reshad stood with a different pair of two other elders, buried in whatever scrolls they happened to have at their disposal at the time. Apparently Kurekk hadn't informed them of our approach as the three of them looked at us in surprise and then laid out a different set of scrolls over the first set. Their bird-like features betrayed little of what they were feeling inside but I could tell that he didn't have the great, astoundingly reassuring news I had hoped for.

"I had expected you to send one of your associates back to receive the news," Reshad said curiously in that odd, unnaturally echoing voice of his.

It was a reference to the mercenaries Zhenya had hired for me, of course, but it took me a moment to realize who he had been referring to. "One of them was killed by a group of five zealots and the other two fled," I replied, realizing that I hadn't even told Zhenya and she hadn't even bothered to ask. When the other two elders looked concerned, I continued. "They attacked one of them suddenly, after having merely followed us overhead for a period of time. They didn't even try to defend themselves very hard; they just went crazy, slashing at him in a circle. The other two didn't even bother helping when I killed all of the zealots."

Reshad tapped on his beak with a feathered finger while thinking it over. "Such a flagrant attack is not the normal style for Nerapa's cult," he replied, caution peppering his tone of voice. "They're becoming more bold."

Reshad's next action has me perplexed to this very day. I'd like to consider myself a logical person, and an objective one especially, but his reaction tells otherwise. To the best of my memory I held perfectly still and gave no indication of what I was feeling inside; this is especially the case since only my eyes are visible from inside my mask. However, Reshad picked up on something and tilted his head at me in a manner that was both confused and confusing. "I suppose there will be more time to discuss the details of our people's blood feud with Nerapa's cult; you're worried about the status of our research, yes?"

I don't remember feeling worried, but I do know that Reshad is a shockingly accurate judge of both character and demeanor in other people. Perhaps I had radiated some sort of aura or vibe that gave him that impression; if I gave it off, perhaps I truly did feel that way. I do not know now just as I didn't know then, but I felt there was no time to dwell on it. "If you're referring to Mioda's condition, then of course. I had to leave her alone once more when I came back this time; every second counts."

Satisfied, Reshad directed his two colleagues to begin collecting the scrolls as well as some other arcane instruments I didn't recognize into their stylized, decorated containers before he spoke. "I will try to make this short and in laymen's terms; Nerapa is incompetent and, by objective standards unrelated to our conflict with her, a failure as a sorceress," he began while collecting some of his own belongings. "There is absolutely no way this enchantment you claim you saw on the young woman's skin could have worked, and yet you claim they glowed multiple colors, like the rainbow."

"They did; I saw it with my own two eyes."

Hope increased in my heart as he nodded and snorted some sort of wordless command for all six of us to follow him out toward the flight point – basically a roost for the town's gigantic ravens built into the cliff face. "Then that means that somehow, some way, the enchantment did work. I don't know how she managed to pull it off, but she did; and that doesn't bode well for your friend." His voice didn't carry any sort of ominous tone, but I felt its affect nonetheless.

"What does that mean?" I asked him while he whispered some instructions to two attendants at the flight point who promptly hurried back to the central structure of the town.

Kurekk had already mounted one of the ravens, not telling myself or Zhenya a word of what they were planning. It was both disconcerting and reassuring at the same time; I could tell that Reshad was about to deliver some not so good news, but they also appeared to be bringing us along somewhere. To where, I did not know, but I did know that it would relate to the matter at hand.

"If Nerapa is the one who cast this enchantment, then she is the one who has to remove it; the runes will trigger if anyone else who is both sentient and living comes near Mioda, even a more powerful mage. We have to capture Nerapa alive."

Without instruction, a second of the light blue ravens, huge and dinosaur-like, crept forward toward Zhenya and I both. It's huge beaked jaws were large and sharp enough to snap me in half, and yet its gentle nudging felt as kind as that of any animal at a petting zoo. But I could not take comfort in the fact that it seemed to want me to ride it; too great was my concern for the obvious task of attacking the cult head on and trying to capture its leader.

Bored of the silence, Zhenya jumped in when I failed to. "So we will go to attack these people now?" she asked, not enthusiastic but clearly signaling that she would come along, for which I was and still am immeasurably grateful.

The two other elders mounted a separate raven while another flightless arakkoa warrior mounted a fourth. "For now, we need to scout for Nerapa's location; her cult has shifted around multiple times over the past decade and we don't know where they are currently. We need to know the location of this Mioda person as well, from which point the two of you can continue north into Talador to fetch whatever help you can from these blood elves, as you call them."

Not needing to be told twice, I already found myself on the back of the second raven, ready and eager to go. Zhenya and I were too heavy to ride together and she ended up riding with Reshad – in the back, as I made sure to remind her later. I'll spare you the details of the flight, dear reader, as they are largely irrelevant to the story. What is relevant is the talk on the way there; Reshad explained a number of details to us regarding just what exactly we were up against.

The cult had, apparently, been around for almost a decade – that's quite a bit of time before the portal to the alternate version of Draenor was opened. Whether or not the cult also existed in my own version of Draenor, now known as 'Outland,' I can't say until this very day. If they didn't, then I would certainly be glad; Nerapa had failed as a mage among her own people and began preaching to the mentally deficient among them. After gathering a group of followers, they fled into the mountains and began kidnapping, ransoming and extorting the flightless arakkoa, never coming into conflict with their own winged arakkoa; she was bright enough to know she couldn't fight on two fronts. In addition to her general manipulation of her own followers and the terrorizing of locals, she did occasionally try to enact her enchantments on living targets as a means of proving that she wasn't a complete and total failure. Her followers were devoted and ruthless, but devoid of any talent at all for magic; those who did possess such talents tended to see through her legends and tales rather quickly. Like most cults and false prophets and prophetesses, she preyed on the weak of mind and of body alike; the latter were represented by flightless villagers and the former were represented by her own cultists.

By the time we arrived to Mioda's hiding spot, the sun had begun to rise. The trip had been surprisingly fast despite the fact that the ravens flew about as slowly as they could without simply dropping out of the sky; it couldn't have been even half an hour whereas on foot, the trip spanned perhaps five or maybe even six hours depending on the route one took. Reshad, Zhenya and I landed while the two other dread ravens circled overhead lest any more zealots sneak up on us. My two companions dismounted entirely and waited for me while I ventured off the main road and into the wilderness.

It hadn't been very long at all since I'd last left Mioda, and while I walked through the twisted underbrush I wondered what would happen next. Truth be told, we had organized the venture so quickly that many of the finer details hadn't been properly planned. Kurekk had brought more supplies for her, but would we leave her alone again? I was asking a lot of Zhenya if I planned on staying with Mioda and leaving the draenei to search on behalf of someone she didn't even know in an entirely different region of that world. But surely, even someone as stoic and – there's no way around saying it – unfeeling as Zhenya could understand that I couldn't leave Mioda alone for a third time, especially when we had so much help.

All was quiet as I approached, and I said nothing at first in case she was sleeping or otherwise occupied. Eventually, I neared her alcove and began calling Mioda's name – quietly first and then a little bit louder. Already sensing that something was awry, I stepped over roots and rocks to draw even nearer to her hiding place, and I could already see the large, flat, deep footprints in the soil of the sinkhole that could only have been left by large metal feet of someone – or something – very heavy. You could only imagine the sense of dread I felt when I peeked into her alcove and saw that she wasn't there.


	7. Refuge

To this very day, I feel that my reaction to Mioda's disappearance was measured. I had spent most of my hours running back and forth trying to help this person, and had invested in her salvation a considerable amount of time and feeling. Of course I was shocked; how could I not be? Regardless, what I personally feel is that I remained relatively calm and collected considering the situation. Mioda was gone but there were no signs of any sort of explosion; her runes hadn't triggered by the presence of others. There was no blood signifying an animal attack, but I could not find her footprints either. It was as if she'd disappeared off the face of Draenor.

Reshad, however, feel that my response was so measured. As I hurried back to the main road where he and Zhenya were waiting, the large dread ravens ruffled their feathers in irritation, and my two companions both froze. As I explained to them the situation, Reshad told me to calm down repeatedly. This, my dear reader, is one of many situations where I must surrender the reality of what happened to you. While I like to consider myself a reasonable person and an objective observer, there's no denying that an objective viewpoint is difficult when one is involved in a situation. Reshad, likewise, was a trusted and honest man, and similarly objective. Thus I don't entirely know how to explain the brief exchange that consisted mostly of him asking me to repeat myself as I tried to explain to him in detail what I had seen.

He asked me if there were any signs of Mioda; I told him that I'd already explained that to him. When he asked to go see, I understood what he wanted; if Mioda was indeed missing, it would be safe for other living sentients to inspect the area.

He, Zhenya and myself retraced my steps through the twisted trees growing around the sinkhole until we found Mioda's former hiding spot again. Ever the stoic yet successful quester, Zhenya crouched down despite her armor getting dirty and began to search the earthen alcove for clues, pulling out the empty water bottle and health potion I had left for her. Reshad's interest was much different, however, and at this point I can almost remember the unnaturally echoing sound of the old buzzard's voice.

"These large, flat markings; look at them here." He indicated square prints in the soil; about three pairs of them dotted the landscape. "These are blood golems. Built with technology unknown to us here in the Spires. Nerapa must have stolen it."

It all clicked in my head, and I gave a measured response despite the odd way Zhenya was looking at me. "They're powered by blood...but not technically sentient?" I suggested out loud.

"Exactly. During the course of Nerapa's foul experiments, they most likely performed the legwork since she wouldn't be able to approach her victims. They'd also be able to apprehend an escapee once her scouts spotted one. This Mioda person likely ventured out to stretch or to answer the call of nature and was spotted."

The speed of the revelation brought no sense of relief; Mioda had been recaptured by her tormentors. I had promised to help find a cure for her, and to wait by her side while Reshad's people confronted Nerapa's cult. And...well, I failed in that. There's no way of knowing how things would have turned had situations been different, and we Forsaken generally do not believe in fate. But none of that prevented me from silently lamenting the loss; Reshad and Kurekk, of course, would fly on, perturbed by the increase in activity by their people's old enemy. But from my personal perspective, I felt as though the fight had been lost.

At first.

For reasons I still don't understand, it was the uncaring, unfeeling paladin who spoke up. Showing a weird form of empathy I had previously thought impossible for her, Zhenya stood up, dusted off her shin guards and grabbed the attention of both of us.

"The plan doesn't need to change; everything is going to be fine," she said, placing one cold, stiff hand on my shoulder in a rather forced yet well meaning attempt to comfort me. "Scrollkeeper, your people intend to take the fight directly to this cult, yes?"

"That is correct."

"Then lend us these two ravens. If the cult has targeted the blood elves, we should be able to recruit from their ranks in Talador - that children's benefit will start at the Exarch's Refuge in less than a day. Many of their notables will attend, including the two associates of Mioda's group from what I hear. We will bring who we can to Veil Zekk right away and follow you from there."

Surprised by her quick thinking and interest in the case, I found myself unable to do anything save nod in agreement. Though he seemed wont to crowd into one of the already packed ravens circling above, Reshad eventually relented. "Alright," he droned warily, possibly having been concerned due to the fact that the gigantic blue ravens were not only mounts but also war animals. "We cannot discount the possible benefit of the added help these elves may bring. But do hurry in your way back. Nerapa has never been this active - we've had multiple incidents with her scouts and now mechanical henchmen in the past few days. We must act soon, and the moment we find her cult, hostilities will be unavoidable."

Speaking for me due to my melancholy at losing Mioda and my lethargy in catching up to the plan, Zhenya took charge as the less weighted down of the two ravens above was flagged to land. "Straight to Exarch's Refuge, straight back at Veil Zekk. If there are so many blood elves in Talador, we may be able to purchase a portal back as well."

The Scrollkeeper was quick to take her up on the offer. "You make sure of that, then; I have no doubt that we can take Nerapa's cult head in, but we'll suffer heavy losses which prevented us from trying so far. The more help you can bring, the less severe those losses will be."

"You have our word," the usually aloof and almost self centered draenei replied, once again stunning me as she watched Reshad fly away with his associates and then turn to me as if she hadn't just turned all I knew about her on its head. "Are you going to just stand there or will we both try to climb onto this thing and fly?" she asked expectantly.

The dread raven already had dread in its eyes at the prospect of carrying an abnormally tall Forsaken and an abnormally thick bodied draenei female wearing plate armor by the time I came to my senses and replied.

Miraculously, it managed to take off after a shaky running start, soaring on the thermals but at a slower speed as it worked to conserve its energy. During the long flight to Talador - much, much longer than the half our or so between the town and Mioda's hiding spot - Zhenya and I managed to plan a number of things. Despite her occasionally rude, flippant nature and tendency to agitate those whom she considered friends, one of the great things about the strangely non religious paladin was that she was a great adventurer and planner and understood the logistics of travel very well.

We would arrive at the Refuge flight point - the raven understood basic Common from Azerothians at Veil Zekk and already knew where to go - and immediately pay to garner it extra care; it would need the rest if we couldn't secure a portal on our way back. From that point we would split up - we would have to locate two individuals for whom we had names but no faces, and convince them that we knew where one of the students were even though we didn't exactly. A white lie, but one to their benefit if it meant convincing them. From there, we'd have to round up however much help we could along with mounts and either port or fly back to Veil Zekk, switch out our mounts for more well rested ones and follow the trail to Nerapa's hideout...assuming that Reshad and his fellow elders had even located it by that time. It was a gamble based on a chance grounded on a possibility, and the life of not only Mioda hung in the balance but perhaps numerous other victims and an entire arakkoa community. Were it not for Zhenya's relaxed nature, I may not have been able to tame the residual anxiety my brain retained from the six mortal personalities that comprise it. Though were it not for her preference for silence over talking, I might have had a more worthwhile means of whittling the hours of travel time away. It was a trade off, and beggars cannot be choosers.

Like the other periods spent traveling during this trail, not much worth telling occurred; we merely covered more ground than I had before, on foot. That, and I came to the realization that I really, really needed to buy a mount.

By the time we arrived at the Refuge, the festivities for the festival were nearly underway. Looking back now that I am no longer emotionally compromised, the sight was rather grand. From atop the raven as it circled the flight point, we had a full view of the magnificent architecture of the draenei: most of it was open air despite the abundance of construction materials and workers, including one particular ogron that appeared to be working alongside everyone else. Children both orphans and non ran around already in the late afternoon, carefully watched by numerous chaperones. Donation boxes abounded, and a number of merchants had set up stalls whereby visitors from both Draenor and Azeroth would buy various food items and articles of clothing for themselves and the children's homes at the same time. The entire environment did relax me a bit, and when I saw the throngs of draenei and blood elves I did feel a sense that could almost be described as relief wash over me.

Once on the ground, we stabled the raven and quickly split up, agreeing to meet back at the flight point every hour until we could gather enough followers or waste enough time to know the endeavor was futile - whichever came first. Propriety normally would have prevented me from accosting strangers and asking if they had seen another stranger, but given the seriousness of the situation, propriety ended up being thrown to the wind. The task was made easier by the fact that a number of the Sindorei present became solemn when I mentioned the names of the academy professor and the group's guardian, signaling that the problem was perhaps known among their community. They were certainly more forthcoming than usual, displaying none of the elven caution around strangers that I had expected. A gained a number of moderate leads as I navigated the many merchant stalls, stone draenei establishments and more recently built Azerothian wooden dwellings - mostly traveler's hostels and trading posts.

From then on began a series of events that I still can't explain until this very day. I uphold that the lives of mortal being's are of their own choosing, and that the supposed invisible hand of fate is but a figment of the imagination of farmers and villagers. Regardless, I can find no explanation for the strange crossing of paths with people from my past other than that prison hardens you, prepares you to face the world and that any adventurer on Azeroth worth their mettle, at that time, was on Draenor.

Oronil was the name of the man who had been hired to watch the remaining students after a number of them had been abducted. All Zhenya had told me about him on the way was that he was a spellbreaker, the elite anti magic fighters of the Sindorei, and was a real stern fellow. So when I found a group of younger chattering mages sporting fel green eyes, I had not been properly prepared for the shock I was about to receive.

Standing in the middle of them was none other than one of my former cellmates from prison - obviously under an assumed name, living a very different life and certainly quite shocked to see me. That same old craggy, scarred face of the red headed man we'd literally called Scarface in prison greeted me with eyebrows raised in surprise. He wasn't armed but looked intimidating regardless; contrary to the stereotype some of us in the Horde had about blood elf men always being of slighter build, Scarface - or Oronil, as I was to find out - had the dimensions of a human laborer and the markings of a seasoned warrior. None of us ever shared our reasons for being on the inside, but unlike myself I had always suspected that he was actually guilty of what he'd been accused of. Not that I was one to judge, especially when trying to recruit help.

"Patchwork?" he asked, using my old prison name.

"Scarface?" I asked right back, much to the amusement of his young charges who apparently thought we were about to fight each other.

We both stepped aside, comparing each other's clothing for a moment. Both of us undoubtedly looked to be in much better positions than since we'd last seen each other, and of course we did take time to share how we'd both been granted parole and sent to Draenor. Those details, dear reader, aren't particularly relevant to the case of the arakkoa conflict in general or Mioda's plight in particular. Suffice to say, the code of people who had done time together held true: after explaining my encounters with Mioda and the fact that the flightless arakkoa were mobilizing against her captors as we spoke, the man who was now known as Oronil spoke briefly to another one of the students' handlers, arranged for them to be on lockdown at the Refuge and followed me to find his brother - none other than Professor Seraph, a family name Oronil no longer bore.

"We can't spare much given what we've lost," Oronil explained as we weaved in and out of the crowds in an attempt to find the younger of the two brothers. "We can only recruit help from those associated with the academy my brother is associated with; it isn't as if every member of our race will somehow join us. They're as likely to do so for free as any other group of people."

"I understand."

"From our own group, I know at least three of the more talented students and one other teacher will be able to come without significantly lowering the numbers of those who remain behind. Any more would put the academy's reputation at risk and hamper the teaching schedule for those who have ventured here for direct practice of their skills in the field."

At that, I grunted a bit in disapproval. "They won't even risk it to save one of their own? Won't leaving her without sufficient help damage the academy's reputation?"

Looking a bit uncomfortable, Oronil stared straight ahead as we rounded a corner between the trees and a relatively isolated tea house. "Our people have...some issues to work out regarding priorities. And the value of individual life." There was a bitterness in his voice that I could tell went beyond just Mioda's case, and I pressed no further out of respect for his privacy.

It didn't take us long at the relatively empty tea house to find the one whom I knew we were looking for. Seated alone and resting his chin on his fist sat a rather imposing blood mage, fully dressed the part in robes that matched his hair. Although he didn't resemble Oronil too much - he was of slighter build, though by no means a small man, and lacked the scars - there was a bit of resemblance in their hair color and similarly serious demeanor. The fel staff he carried signified his rank as someone teaching arcane magic, and I must admit that my fascination - as a non magic wielding observer - distracted me for a moment while Oronil explained to his brother who I was.

Staring hard at his cup of tea until Oronil finished, Professor Seraph looked up at me, his eyes laced with suspicion. "Could you tell me the details of what you observed?" he asked while offering me a chair at his table to sit.

Gladly taking it, I found only the two of us present as Oronil left to don the rest of his gear and meet us at the flight point within half an hour, which would be just about the time that Zhenya would be waiting at that very place for our first recap of who we had recruited. There wouldn't be much time, but as the highest ranking member leading the group of students, the professor would undoubtedly feel a sense of responsibility for any students their group lost in the field. Or so one would hope.

"You're inquiring about the nature of the runes I witnessed in Mioda's skin?" I asked, a bit confused by the open ended question.

Not impatient but obviously searching for something, the professor stared at me, his expression unreadable in the way only an old elf could pull off. "We can start there," was his only reply.

"Alright...they shone a sort of opalescent color, always fluctuating somewhat like a rainbow. The flightless arakkoa of the province researched it and are surprised that the cult proved competent enough to pull it off. They said that if Nerapa, the leader of the cult, is the one who cursed Mioda with the runes, then Nerapa would be the only one who can remove them. We need to capture her alive."

Very little emotion or reaction at all escaped the professor's face. It was as if he viewed the situation clinically, which perhaps bothered me a little more than it should. "How badly was she injured by the process?" he asked flatly.

"Bad. Well, not by the process itself, I think. She was starved and on the verge of dehydration, in addition to being severely roughed up. She never mentioned any stories about blood golems dealing harshly with her, but that's the only possibility I can think of."

Finally, a bit of reaction escaped Professor Seraph as his eyebrows twitched ever so slightly in anger. "How was her emotional state when you last saw her?" he asked.

"Better than when I met her...she had hope." A pang of guilt struck me as I realized that I was the reason for her renewed hope. The image of her in the clutches of the cultists again, possibly undergoing more experiments, caused me to cringe though the professor didn't seem to notice. "Professor," I said, "the people of Arak know its ways the best. Once we help the Scrollkeeper of Veil Zekk and his associates capture the cult leader, we should be able to squeeze a solution out of her. It might do us well to make haste."

As if he'd expected the comment, the professor sprang up with a surprising quickness, staff in hand. "Very well...I suppose we accomplish precious little as we sit around." Chugging his tea like a shot glass, he laid some change down on the table and led us back onto the narrower street, aimed toward the area I vaguely remember having seen the flight path in.

On our way there, the two of us were mostly silent until I remembered one significant question I'd forgotten. "Professor...is Aneril here?" I asked without shyness despite the nosiness of the question. "Is he aware that Mioda has been missing?"

A twinge of something rather negative found its way across the professor's face, a lot like the way a man might react upon seeing a woman he fancied with another man. "Did Mioda tell you about him, or did you bring it up?" he asked in a polite tone that didn't lessen the impact of his stiff reaction.

"I brought it up when I noticed her engagement ring," I replied unashamed. "Any possible connections she has to others means possible help saving her and putting a stop to what this cult is doing."

Looking down at the ground so sternly that a group of traveling musicians from local draenei and orcs jumped out of our way, the professor appeared frustrated by my refusal to back down but patient given the fact that he would have difficulty locating Reshad's people, and thus his student, without me. "Her fiancé was a fool, and an ignorant man. Pay no mind to him and focus on the task at hand." He spoke as if it were final, obviously used to being the one giving orders at the academy

Before I had time to even consider whether a reply was appropriate or not, the next in the series of events I can't explain occurred and stopped me dead in my tracks. Wordlessly, the professor stopped as well, curious as to what caught my attention.

Across the crowd, a flash of blue and red caught my eye, and another odd,mfamiliar sense of recognition drew my attention away. Not long after I'd bumped into Oronil in the most direct crossing of paths I could imagine, another person form my past - also a former cellmate - hoved into my view. Shambling, ambling but in a much better mental state than I'd last seen him in was Khujand, a manic jungle troll who'd had his tusks sawed off more than halfway as a punishment for highway robbery. Not only had he been released too, apparently, but he had a woman on his arm - another big shock. And she was an elf, another other big shock. And she was one of the Alliance elves, which was so weird that it was almost comical.

"Professor, there's someone else we might be able to solicit - Khujand! Is that you?" I shouted in an inappropriate way across the crowd.

Surprised and pulling away from his upset looking lady friend, the sheepish man clad in a loincloth scanned the crowd until he spotted us. He wouldn't recognize me visually - I was covered head to toe save for my eyes - but my voice is easily recognizable, as I've been told, and he seemed shy at first before walking forward before his companion and nearly stepping on a gnome to meet us in the center of the noisy crowd.

"My God man, this day really has been a long string of strange coincidences," I remarked, temporarily forgetting that the professor was still standing next to me, likely perturbed at the unexplained diversion.

"Valmar?" he asked cautiously at first, slightly embarrassed for no reason as I'd expect from someone like him and equally unmindful of the fact that his companion was still standing right there. "Oh...well, it's been more than a year, hasn't it?"

The two elves didn't meet each other's gazes, possibly due to the natural animosity between the two varieties. It was improprietous of me in retrospect; I was assuming quite a bit about a man I hadn't seen in a year and a man I'd literally just met in thinking it would be appropriate to converge social groups. Still, my elation at meeting two former cellmates within the span of one hour at such a crucial time both filled me with hope of recruiting adequate help to storm Nerapa's cult and caused me to lose a bit of my usual reservation in public.

"We were on the inside together," I quickly explained to the professor despite his obvious disinterest, not wanting to be too obviously flippant. "I once saw this man shank a former platoon commander over a stolen hot dog, he's that serious." Perhaps a little too enthusiastically, I assumed that somebody completely unknown to the blood elves from the academy would be welcome to join us. "Hey, we have some serious matters to attend to in the Spires of Arakk. You should come-"

"Not necessary," interjected Professor Seraph. He wasn't rude so much as direct and pressed for time. "As much as I understand your elation at crossing paths with an old acquaintance, it must not escape your attention that since he's here, you will be able to reminisce again in the future. Our affairs in the region south of here, however, are time-sensitive."

Feeling contrite for having put them both on the spot, I easily relented and quietly chastised myself for being so excitable that afternoon. "Well...I do suppose you have a point," I sighed before turning back to yet another odd coincidence from my past. "Khujand, my associate and I do have some rather crucial affairs to attend to in the Spires. Before we leave - do tell, what is your current situation here? I was under the impression that you wouldn't yet have been released."

"Yeah...well, about that, it's tha strangest thing," the big blue man began hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

About two or three minutes into the brief reunion with one of my old prison buddies, I noticed the she-elf lean a little bit closer to him to signal her discomfort. Her kind was strange to me despite my growing tolerance after befriending Zhenya. I viewed Mioda, a Sindorei, as a female elf; this Kaldorei on Khujand's arm, in my admittedly unacquainted view, was a 'she-elf' and while perhaps wild and feral enough for my former Darkspear companion, more of a mystery to me than even Reshad. Sensing her discomfort, my former cellmate attempted to make some sort of amends.

"This is Cecilia, by tha way," he said as he wrapped his arm around his stiff companion's shoulder. Her face betrayed little emotion as she seemed to go quiet. "We met here on tha campaign, up north in Gorgrond."

The rest of us all shifted uncomfortably at the introduction, mumbling our helloes and how-do-you-dos quietly before Professor Seraph tapped his staff on the ground. It was obviously to prompt me to cut the conversation short, though several passersby jumped at the sight of the Blood Mage fiddling with his frightening arcane staff.

"Well, anyway Khujand," I started after having exhausting what small talk we could without getting caught up in a deeper conversation when already pressed for time. "Now that I know where you're staying in Frostfire, you can be sure that I'll write once my own living situation is squared away."

"Ya welcome ta come up any time, man," he answered as he rubbed the she-elf's shoulder in a conciliatory act that only made her and us even more uncomfortable. "There're more and more jobs every day, plus we get alotta quests up there from people that can't do their own dirty work."

"None knows the future, but I won't forget the offer," I told him as we all bid farewell from a thoroughly bizarre and awkward conversation.

My head spinning from having bumped into two former prison buddies turned fellow adventurers in the span of an hour, I tried to ground myself by accepting the professor's chiding. "Don't spread private business to the entire settlement; you never know who could be listening."

"I know, that was my fault," I conceded.

We hurried over toward the flight path, the four mages waiting for us already in view. "You have the thanks of our institution, Valmar of the Forsaken. Stay focused, and so shall we," he reminded me one last time, stopping just on the verge of condescension.

Apparently having scoped out the group, Zhenya already waited there with the others, her golden armor gleaming next to the impressive spellbreaker gear Oronil had donned as if they were competing against each other. The entire group looking imposing, but aside from Zhenya, I knew nothing about them. It struck me then that I was embarking on this journey with six strangers whose abilities I might not be able to rely on. What was worse, I had no idea how the flightless arakkoa would react to them and vice versa; their presence was nothing but variables and wild cards. If I had a heart, it would have beat rapidly at that moment.

After a round of introductions we all knew would be forgotten, the six elves called on their various flying mounts, lining up next to the dread raven Zhenya and I thankfully wouldn't have to share again due to the combined skills of the mages. Our posse was varied, imbalanced, unacquainted with one another's capabilities and completely disorganized, but it was all we had at the time.

Having found sufficient aid after a decent amount of searching, all fifteen of us - riders, mounts, and all - huddled together as we teleported as a group to Veil Zekk - only to find it nearly empty.


	8. The Depths

Emptied of virtually all its inhabitants, Veil Zekk was an unnerving place. It was concealed from the vision of outsiders by a spell, and yet the place looked as if there had been a mass kidnapping of all the people. Our mounts more disoriented than we from the teleportation, we descended, finding Professor Seraph looking at Zhenya and I a little expectantly.

"Well?" he asked, and I actually identified with the frustration peppering his tone despite the fact that it was partially directed at me.

Scanning the area, I tried to find anybody I could in order to explain what happened. "If they located the cult's location already, they might have left. But...surely there must be someone-"

My speech was cut off by Zhenya. "There, at the flight point up the hill!"

Sure enough, three of the civilians of the local people were trying to wave us over and saddle two more of the enormous raven mounts at the same time. Zhenya and I dragged our own mounts forward to meet them, though only Oronil broke from the other elves to rush forward as well; the others, including the professor, seemed reluctant to hurry.

"Where is everybody?" I asked in a rush, though the civilians weren't startled and didn't even slow down as they continued trying to mount their ravens.

"The others...everybody, they all went when Reshad sent a messenger," the only overweight arakkoa I'd ever seen huffed. "People from our planet, people from your planet, they all went to fight - the cult has hired people to help fight for them."

"If you're going there now, then you have help," I said, motioning toward my comrades and our mounts. The professor finally reached us at that point and gave the same expectant look to the now mounted arakkoa.

"Thank you...everyone has gone to put an end to the cult, but the elders expect heavy losses. Come on, then; the other waves have likely already arrived."

Crowding onto all our mounts in a slightly disorganized fashion, we lifted off, following the trio of civilians toward the east. The elves aside from Oronil were all silent, and their thoughts about joining such an odd group for the sake of retrieving one of their own were unreadable. The three civilians were nervously chatty, explaining that they were only going in order to deliver more mounts to the battle - the cult was comprised by winged arakkoa who had an airborne advantage, and given that the intent here was to permanently end the cult, the local flightless arakkoa demanded all the help they could get. Whether the elves with us intended to help or simply retrieve Mioda - assuming we could find a solution for her condition - was a question I had a feeling they wouldn't answer directly.

My old friend, however, was one I could count on. "I'd say this is like old times, but...this is a little different from slave labor," Oronil chuckled, making a joke that virtually nobody else was likely to understand.

"A slight difference," I replied across the wind. "Though I at least hoe that we'll come out of this alive."

Cynicism marked his scarred features as he honed his vision toward movement in the orange sky ahead. He had always been a pessimist, and still appeared to be now that we came into view of a rather foreboding sight. There was no time to ask him if he intended to help beyond locating his charge or not.

"We need to land!" one of the civilian riders ahead of us cawed.

Among the jagged rocks and crooked trees, we could see the ruins of what appeared to be a an ancient stone colosseum covered in wooden structures that had only recently been added, judging by the unaged wood. Details beyond that were difficult to discern due to the air traffic in the skies.

All around us, bird people of both varieties traded bolts of magical energy back and forth, the slow ravens used by the people of Veil Zekk hovering stalwartly as the much quicker but less durable cultists darted around. The mass of feathers, beaks and magic was interspersed with adventurers from both Draenor and Azeroth, in pursuit of the quick cultists as people from a dozen different races killed and were killed before our eyes. The sheer number of people was far beyond what I had expected from either side, and I found myself at a loss as to what we should do until the bubble of a concealment spell enveloped all of us.

Sensing the source of the spell, Oronil pointed downward toward something we couldn't see. "Friendly target below...someone is trying to hide us," the spellbreaker shouted to the rest of us.

"It's Reshad! It has to be him!" I replied, and before any more discussion could take place the civilian riders dove toward the source of the spell. Wordlessly, the elves followed suit, landing next to us within the confines of an illusion containing Reshad, Kurekk and two of his fellow elders.

Displaying a sense of humor I'd never seen from the old buzzard before, there was about as obvious a change to his avian face as I could notice. "Glad to see you could make it," he joked, using an understated manner that was lost on Zhenya but that resonated well with the elves.

Stepping forward, Professor Seraph appeared to appoint him as new spokesperson for the group. "Introductions will need to wait, I'm afraid; I understand that your people are aware of the location of one of ours," he said politely but very tersely to his fellow mage.

"Ah, you are the one responsible for the young lady who was kidnapped, yes? We believe that we know exactly where she is being held; and most likely, she is being held with the person who placed the curse upon her."

"It is imperative that we find them both, then-"

The professor was cut off by a group of fighters in both sides crashing to the ground after a rather sizeable arcane explosion in the air. The din of the aerial battle above echoed down as a nearly endless flow of people fighting on both sides blotted out the sun.

"There's a complication," Reshad said when the professor's speech had been temporarily interrupted. "The cult that did this keeps their worst deeds beneath this old colosseum, but the zealots flying above the entrance to the lower levels aren't likely to permit us to enter without a fight. Additionally, as you may know, none of us can approach the young lady in question save Valmar here; a living sentient will trigger the runes."

A quick thinking intelligence shone behind fel green eyes, and the professor barely skipped a beat before offering a solution that worked out well for all of us. "My other students here are ready for their first true test - the zealots will be an excellent real world opportunity for them," Professor Seraph suggested while motioning toward the four mage cadets, one of whom looked rather nervous. "We would not become involved in a blood feud between you and this cult otherwise, but it seems that our interests here are mutual."

"Such arrangements tend to be the most functional," Reshad cawed, and I somehow could detect both relief and distrust in his voice. Turning toward the civilians, he squaked something in bird language before they nodded and turned to leave with the ravens, hovering low to the ground and still concealed by the illusion spell. "The path inside the main part of the structure is easy from here - there are few guards on the ground. Once inside, we can take them by surprise."

Our party of twelve moved slowly, concealed by the arcane bubble that Reshad's colleagues generated around us. The professor and Oronil both walked casually, obviously trusting in the power of the illusion, and the four students seemed reassured for the most part. Zhenya appeared rather eager compared to the rest of us, and already pulled out her warhammer before we'd even passed through the high stone gates marking the entrance tunnel of the colosseum. The masonry was old and weathered, and there was a musty smell until we had edited the tunnel and found ourselves in the main arena of the place.

"Wow..." one of the elven mage cadets murmured out loud.

Although a moderately sized pitched battle was taking place in the skies just outside the arena, the inside was dotted by the cult's zealots. Dozens, maybe even a hundred, they hovered and circled the area as if they were unaware of the conflict they surely could have seen. From such a height it was impossible for me to discern whether they were waiting for something or enraptured in some sort of accursed trance; it didn't make sense for them all to be at rest otherwise.

Running from the entrance all the way across the arena awas a raised bridge of stone and wood, possibly a platform for gladiatorial combat ages ago. Straight at the other end of the bridge was another entrance, darker and without sunlight; obviously it led to an underground level, and I immediately knew it to be my destination.

Despite the illusion spell, all of us held still and walked slowly as we stepped on to the bridge. "Your charge is most assuredly through that tunnel on the other side; that is where our dear Valmar must go," Reshad said to Professor Seraph, no longer addressing myself or Zhenya. "I can conceal him as he enters the tunnel, and hope that nobody below alerts the zealots up here; or we can attack them head on. We will have the advantage of surprise, but their numbers are rather high."

Not arrogant so much as superbly confident, the professor didn't even flinch. "Their numbers are nothing," he said with a slight hint of anger in his voice as he watched the winged zealots. "My brother and I would kill every last one of them on our own; they will provide an excellent field test for my students instead." He then turned toward the four cadets and spoke in Thalassian, a language which I could not speak but somehow remembered from one of the cadavers that comprised my body. "Do not grieve for your classmate; her affair is my concern. No matter what, you _will_ demonstrate that the academy's efforts haven't been wasted; and no matter what happens, you all _will_ return to the registrar in Talador at the battle's conclusion. Is that understood?" The four younger elves nodded, one of them nervous but all of them unhesitating.

Satisfied, he nodded to Reshad, who may or may not have understood Thalassian - the arakkoa learned languages faster than any race of people I'd ever met. He looked Zhenya and myself over for a moment before speaking. "Zhenya...we cannot risk you accompanying Valmar below, but we also cannot risk any other zealots going into or out of the catacombs beneath us; they might complicate your rescue operation significantly."

"Nobody will pass; don't even worry about that end of the bridge." Her warhammer began to glow with a crystalline light; probably a small trick to show off with, but her point had been punctuated rather well.

"Go, then, and I'll keep the two of you concealed until our undead friend has descended below. Be ready for anything."

The two of us pushed forward toward the very edge of the translucent barrier concealing our group, and I could vaguely sense an oily substance. Like a bubble, the boundary of the spell stretched and expanded around Zhenya and I until it separated, and we found ourselves inside of a second, separate bubble. Behind us none of our allies could be seen, and even the usually emotionless, fearless paladin next to me slowed down somewhat as we walked. The zealots were not particularly dangerous, but they had a strong aerial and numerical advantage; I truly hoped that the professor's confidence was deserved.

At the end of the bridge, Zhenya and I walked beneath the awning that marked the beginning to the tunnel below and I felt the illusion spell fade. We were vaguely visible to our allies across the bridge, but hidden from the zealots; the attack would start in any second.

"Hurry; I will watch the entrance. Don't waste time," she told me from a crouch, already in a battle stance.

"May the Light be with you," I told her as I descended. At the time, I didn't notice the irony of an undead saying that to a paladin, and neither did she. We parted ways, and I began walking down a stone staircase to the depths beneath the arena just as I heard a series of loud arcane explosions above. The ambush against the zealots had commenced, and by the sounds of it, they had been caught entirely off guard.

Eventually the sounds tapered off and I wielded my rapier, finding myself in yet another dungeon crawl. The stairwell was dark, but the tunnel below was lighted, and I could hear the heavy footsteps of machines inside. The blood golems, which Reshad had claimed captured Mioda from her hiding spot, were on the prowl. If other sentients truly couldn't approach her, then it made sense that the machines would tend to the work below rather than more zealots, but I wondered how the cult's leader could work on her cruel experiments; wasn't she a living sentient as well?

I hid at the bottom of the stairwell, peeking around the corner in the main hall. The blood golems, from what I'd gleaned about them while in Talador, were rather simple automatons that would only perform set functions; as sentries, they weren't particularly clever. I'm no rogue, but the blood golems were no detectives, and as I crept around the first long tunnel, I could hear one of them passing at a T junction. At first, I sheathed my rapier and intended to smash its sensitive components against the wall much like one would smash another person's head from behind. When I happened upon the first few holding cells, however, I paused to the point of nearly putting myself at risk of being discovered.

Although the structure high above us was an arena, this had clearly been a dungeon meant to hold criminals. What the cells held for the cult, however, were horrors. The first dozen denizens of the cells were all dead, all of them in ways which I would not even consider appropriate to describe in this story. Every last one of them bore the same runes as Mioda, but I noticed the subtle differences. Some of them had rune markings which had bled profusely as one point, or had been cut too deep into the skin; others were quite literally burnt into the bodies, as if they'd been overloaded by the power of the enchantment. It was difficult to tell which bodies were decomposed and which bodies had simply been the victims of botched enchantments. At least three of them had clearly died from suicide, the results of the experiments too much for the tortured souls to bear.

Voices mumbled in terrifying tones at the same time that I heard the footsteps of one of the blood golems increase in speed. I'd been discovered, and there were multiple victims still alive judging by the weakened cries. I couldn't hear Mioda's voice among them, and as I searched for a hiding spot I found myself startled as a robotic claw gripped my cape.

"En garde!" I shouted involuntarily as I spun around.

The fabric of my cape tore just as the other robot hand grabbed for me, finding nothing but expensive cloth now ruined. I kicked the golem's knee hard enough to send the automaton stumbling against the wall, and before it could hit me back I punched out the glass cylinder on the machine's frontside containing the harvested blood that fueled it. The disgusting liquid poured out as the machine slowly stiffened up and became still. The surviving victims began wailing as much as their tired lungs would allow, and I could already hear more mechanical footsteps approaching from both directions. I only had a few seconds to formulate a plan.

One of the cells had been laid ajar, the door open and the horrendous, rune marked mess that was once an innocent orcish farmer laying dead on a stone slab. Knowing that the blood golems could see anything before them but only sense the living, I hid inside the cell behind the stone slab just as both of the machines converged at their destroyed comrade. Though they had no means of communicating with one another, I could tell from the shadows against the wall that they were searching the immediate area. Perhaps because the dungeon was so active, there wasn't enough dust on the floor for my footsteps to have been visible, and the quickly turned around and walked back to whence they came when they failed to find the intruder.

It was a fatal mistake for the machines. Together in cramped quarters, they very well could have posed a series threat to me; separated, they were nearly helpless. Rushing them once they were a significant distance apart, I disabled one of them from behind and stabbed the glass cylinder of blood on the other when it charged, felling them both before they had a chance to pose a serious threat. I destroyed four more in such a manner, hiding behind any solid object that would conceal my figure knowing that blood based technology was also life based technology, an entirely different category of being from one such as myself. I was as undetectable to them when out of view as the air.

Only when I was absolutely certain that all the golems had been destroyed did I retrace my footsteps toward the cells that contained living victims. Even before they came into view, I found myself possessed by fear of what I was about to see. The victims who had obviusly died during the enchantment or by their own hands were in such poor condition that even I, as an undead, found myself ill at ease. To witness someone surviving after a botched enchantment was almost too much to bear.

Maybe it was cowardly of me; maybe it was immoral. Was I wrong to go to such ends to help Mioda find a cure, but not those who hadn't fared as well as she had after the enchantment? Here, I find myself exposed to your judgment, dear reader; I will not seek to defend my actions. I can only recount the story as it truly occurred, and hope that you draw whatever conclusions you will. A total of four other victims of the failed enchantment were still alive when I traversed further down the depths beneath the arena; none of them were after I passed them by.

In less opaque terms: I ended them, all four of them. Mercy killing is a philosophical issue which I do not intend to tackle here on these pages, but it's what I did. To see what someone looked like after improperly marked runes had been burned and cut into them was too much for my mind to bear. And although this is not a moral argument, is it worth noting that none of the four resisted when I carried out the grisly task.

For minutes I sat around a corner and shook as I slumped against the floor. My body no longer had hormones, nerves or system shock; it was entirely psychological. But after what I had felt compelled to do, I found myself in need of mental recovery before I could go on. It was only the sense of urgency for my friends above that finally drove me to rise and press on, otherwise I might have spent far too long sitting against the wall, trying to make sense of the whole ordeal.

Although I didn't have to search much longer, the lack of any other beings living or mechanical made the few minutes I spent searching the dungeon feel like an hour. The place was not designed like a maze, but the quarters were cramped and without any living beings in sight, it was eerily quiet. It was only a magical light far at the end of one of the passageways that caught my attention. I moved toward it, rapier at the ready as I crouched as low as my large frame would allow.

The fine hum of enchanting instruments could be heard, and I was able to tell that the room ahead was a sort of laboratory not unlike the one where I'd been pieced together a few years before. Creeping as best as I could, I tried to listed for any voices but found only the weak breathing of a small frame that I recognized as Mioda's. My figurative spirits rose when I realized I'd located her, and that she was alive. From the rhythm of her breaths I could tell that she was awake and relatively healthy; the only times I'd seen her, she had been exhausted and in the verge of dehydration. For whatever sick reason, the cult was keeping her alive and relatively well, perhaps as she was the only person who seemed to have survived the imprinting of the runes in relatively functional shape.

The arcane hum of the instruments provided a measure of cover for my admittedly heavy footsteps, and I managed to scoot forward on one knee, inch by inch, until I could just barely see a rather high laboratory.

Against the wall were several rows of cells, all of them containing failed experiments and mangled victims. Though I could hear Mioda's breathing, I couldn't see her from my vantage point and didn't want to risk being exposed. There was a table with straps that looked like a sort of torture rack, but which had electrodes near the top bearing a strange glowing branding with runes. A white light glowed from around the corner inside the room, and I could see the shadow of a vaguely avian figure sitting on a chair; what I failed to see were the two blood golems lined against the opposite wall from where I was looking, plain as day. I saw the movement when they activated just in time to move and avoid the brunt of the first blow.

As an undead I cannot feel pain, but we are still wary of injury; healing requires either expensive surgery or a very talented necromancer, and since the Forsaken were still members of the Horde at that time, necromancy was technically illegal. That sense of self preservation spurred me to move when I felt the rush of air, and the hammer fist of the first golem clipped my shoulder only hard enough to jar the joint without actually dislocating it. I stumbled as I heard a tired gasp from Mioda and a squawk from the figure who would turn out to be the cult's leader, and ended up taking the brunt of a second blow in my stomach from one of the golems - I couldn't tell which - as I forced myself to my feet and jumped back out of the room. In the cramped, narrow hallways, the advantage was mine as the golems were simply too wide to crowd around each other.

The machines were surprisingly fast, even faster than myself at full sprint, and the first one grabbed both of my arms and kiften me up off the ground before I had a chance to strike. Sacrificing another expensive piece of my gear, I headbutted the glass cylinder of blood, denting and scraping my mask but also smashing the most sensitive part of the machine. It fell forward and nearly pinned me as the second one tried to step right over it in an attempt to attack, and I just barely managed to grab a torch sconce on the wall to pull myself away. Though its swipes were quick and frantic, I eventually pierced the glass cylinder and found myself wondering who would design a golem with such an obvious weak spot directly on the front.

Having no breath to catch, I leapt over both of the felled machines and returned to the room, probably faster than I should have. The avian figure remained sitting in its chair at a bench around the corner, waiting for me to return and making no attempt to defend itself. My eagerness overtook me and when it didn't attack, I spun around until I found the cell containing Mioda and immediately called out her name; I imagine that I appeared overly relieved given that the cult leader almost appeared offended that I didn't address her or simply attack her first.

Downcast and mostly lacking any enthusiasm, Mioda tilted her head up to look at me. She was slumped on the floor much as I had been minutes before, her chin and arms resting on the bars as if she didn't have enough energy to sit normally. Her hair was greasy and unwashed and her clothing had become even more sullied, but from her skin tone I could tell that she'd been given sufficient food and drink. Her expression was completely blank, so nondescript that I couldn't even sense any despair; her eyes were hollow not in the sense of a mental illness so much as she seemed devoid of emotions. It would be dishonest of me to deny the fact that I felt a little hurt by that.

As if she were bothered that I called out Mioda's name instead of hers, the cult leader known as Nerapa stirred on her chair. "So you're the one who cared for our test subject after she escape-"

Unable to tolerate listening to a being responsible for so much suffering, I lashed out, screaming words I can't quite remember without even looking at the villainess. I didn't want to hear any sort of explanation or master plan; at that point, I just wanted to ensure that the young lady I'd found in the wilderness was alright. A growl emitted from the cult leader's throat, but I ignored her entirely as he rushed over to Mioda's cell and knelt before her.

"Are you hurt?" I asked stupidly, too relieved to see that she was relatively healthy to think straight. "They didn't do anything else to you, did they?"

Overwhelmed by the attention, Mioda blinked and examined my dented mask before answering. "There isn't anything else they could do," she muttered, still not looking particularly excited to see me there.

"Can you walk?" I asked, gritting my teeth beind my mask when I noticed Nerapa sneaking up behind me with a staff as if I wouldn't notice.

Holding a great poker face, Mioda just motioned toward Nerapa with her eyes but pretended she didn't see. "I'm not sure...I'm still tired, but..." Her voice trailed off and she motioned toward the cult leader again.

Frustrated that our reunion was being interrupted, I lashed out with my rapier behind me, easily catching Nerapa before she could attempt any sort of offensive action. My rapier caught the tip of her long beak, completely severing a third of its length along with part of her tongue and leaving her severely disfigured. However, she didn't cry out in pain even when she hit the ground, merely flailing and reaching for a chair to pull herself up.

A very faint hint of emotion worked its way into Mioda's face as the light snicker of a victim having retribution worked its way into her closed mouth. It was fleeting, and another minute later the elf looked rather dejected again. "I'm still aching from my last escape attempt. But it doesn't matter...none of this matters."

"Nonsense, we're going to get you out of here!" I beamed, bending the iron bars of her cell and pulling open a passage for her to easily step out. "We informed your academy of your plight; your professor and your classmates are all outside!"

Horror made its way into her expression, and I fell into shock at the way she reacted. "No! How could you! How...!" Entirely at a loss for words, she found enough energy to push herself away from the opening, moving away from my attempt to help her out and shutting her eyes in what almost looked like physical pain.

"It's okay! It's okay! You're safe now, we're going to find a way to cure you!" I protested, forgetting logic as I panicked at the sight of her rejection of the plan. Confused, I tried to understand what could be bothering her so much. "Reshad told me, if Nerapa was the one who placed the enchantment on you, she's the one who can remove it - I'll beat it out of her if I have to, but we'll find a way and you'll be able to go home with your colleagues!"

Hugging herself as she scooted even further away from me, she shook her head and looked down. "Valmar...the runes trigger around other living sentients...they don't trigger around your kind," she said, seeming to repeat how the curse worked.

Missing the point, I continued to blabber. "I know, that's why I'm able to help you right now - the others are waiting above so there's nobody here who can..." I paused, not seeing the overall relevance to her plight but finally understanding what she was trying to say.

By that time, Nerapa had crawled back onto her chair and had picked up the severed pieces of her beak and tongue, muttering angrily as she held them in her hands. When I finally figured out what Mioda meant, I turned, and the arrogant resentment of a villain who had been ignored spread across the cult leader's avian features. "Took you long enough," the nearly featherless, withered arakkoa grumbled, her blue eyes glowing with a similar magic to mine.

I rose and tightened my grip on the hilt of my rapier. "You're undead," I murmured, finally putting together the pieces of the puzzle as to how Nerapa performed the experiments without triggering the runes.

"Yes," she cackled as if she'd somehow pulled a trump card.

She was hideous, and that means a lot coming from one of the Forsaken; her feathers had long ago fallen out, leaving hollow tubes from whence they could no longer grow. Her skin wasn't decomposed so much as it looked like that of a very old chicken, loose and almost transparent. It sagged in her bones like a victim of starvation, and her eyes were so far sunken into her skull that they looked like two gelatinous cubes hiding in a pair of caves. The mostly severed beak didn't help, either.

When I moved toward her, she tilted her mangled beak up at me defiantly, totally unafraid even when I reared back and stabbed her in the hand. Undead can't feel any pain, and torture holds little threat for us, but my anger was driving me at that point.

"You remove the runes right now, or I swear I will end you; you will lose your existence and transition into full death," I snarked at her, angered even more by the victorious smirk on her face. "Cure Mioda and I can at least promise you escape this place, even if your cult is disbanded."

"Sure...I'll go ahead and deactivate the runes right now," Nerapa cackled, giving in far too easily. "It's a simply process that takes only fifteen minutes."

Confused by her laughter, I removed my rapier from her bloodless hand and stood back. Her blood golems were all destroyed, her zealots were too far away to know she was in danger and her staff had been left on the floor after I cut off part of her beak. She had absolutely no way to threaten me or Mioda anymore, yet she remained sitting in her chair, completely pleased with herself.

"You monster," Mioda sighed at the old crone, tormented by the laughter for reasons I didn't understand.

But soon enough, I did.

"The removal of the runes requires the removal of the subject's skin; she will die before the process is even finished," Nerapa cackled, bearing a confidence that made the blood elf magi above seem humble.


	9. Acceptance

I wish that I could remember all the details of what I did across the next few minutes. I began committing this tale to paper with the hope that the details would return to me, but alas, I can't remember all that I did in my attempts to beat an answer out of the cult's leader. Perhaps it's for the better; such details ultimately add little to the impact of what occurred. Suffice to say that I lost my temper given the horrifying circumstances.

What I do remember, however, was the expression on Mioda's face - or more accurately, the lack of any expression. In retrospect, my actions should have caused considerable guilt on my part for exposing her to more violence after she'd already witnessed so much. Yet she never flinched or drew away in fear, nor did she seem to enjoy the thrashing of her tormenter. Just leaning on the bent bars of her cell, she closed her eyes and waited apathetically until I realized how much time I was wasting by trying to force an answer out of another undead.

Eventually, the sense of foolishness stayed my hand, and I stood over Nerapa's crumpled form, defeated and out of ideas. In spite of the damage I'd dealt to her, she remained defiant to the bitter end.

"This conflict was never yours to decide...this was between the true followers of Rukhmar and the cursed, ground dwelling tricksters besieging us now. Your friend was a pawn and nothing more."

Nerapa's weak squawks and embittered words spoke more than the defiance in her voice. "You sound resentful that all your talons have wrought has come to an end," I replied. Both of us sensed the acrimony between us, but were at too much of a loss to feel something as strong as anger; we were just two miserable undead people seeking to denigrate one another for no higher purpose.

If anything, it was Mioda who should have felt bitter and miserable; that she didn't implied what I'd like to believe was a sense of level headedness and acceptance of the inevitable that few can ever hope to achieve.

"From the start, she told the truth," Mioda sighed; the young lady appeared tired, but not necessarily downtrodden. "I watched her try to reverse the runes on others as part of her experiments; if she does so without skinning the victim alive, then the runes just burn out as they're disenchanted and the person still dies horribly."

The sight of Mioda speaking about her own hopeless situation so calmly and so removed was too much for me to bear; even now, I remember that sense of a crushing pressure on my chest cavity despite the fact that I don't breathe. There she was, the actual victim, talking sense and readily accepting her inevitable fate; while I, the one who was safe and sound, found the moment to be overwhelming.

Tossing what was left of Nerapa's mangled body aside amongst a pile of refuse, I walked over to the tattered, haggard blood elf's cage and knelt down before her. Whatever happened to me at that time, I can't explain; I have no pulse and only a basic nervous system, yet I distinctly remember the sensation of my body shaking as I tried to look her in her sullen, faraway eyes.

"Mioda...there _must_ be a way. We've tried so hard - you, your colleagues, the good bird people. They're here, all of them, and they can help you out. They can find out a way-"

Perhaps feeling overwhelmed by the tone of my voice, Mioda cut me off by a single, limp wristed wave of her trembling hand. "Valmar...it's over. I've seen what Nerapa told you play out before my very eyes. If the people you've enlisted researched ways to disenchant the runes, then they were looking too hard-" Mioda coughed and nearly gagged in the middle of her sentence, but resisted when I tried to pat her back. Although she appeared to be hydrated and well fed, her body was weak, her voice sounded like the lightest autumn breeze and the fel green glow of her eyes had faded so much that it almost wasn't detectable. For my sake as I assumed then and now, she forced herself to continue speaking despite the toll that every syllable took on her. "They were looking too hard. Nerapa isn't an expert at the horrors she inflicts on people, or even an advanced learner. The runes are crude and primitive, and were merely burned into my skin. If I still have my skin, the runes remain; if my skin is cut off, they're gone. It doesn't go any deeper than that." Finally, those dazed eyes of hers met mine, and they bore an acceptance and readiness that pained me to my very core. "I'm sorry; there is nothing you can do for me."

At the sound of those words, I slumped and sat in the floor like she was. How selfish could I be? How could I have allowed myself to have fallen into a state so low that Mioda was the one comforting me and not the other way around? I felt so insensitive to her plight, sitting there and sulking when she found the inner fortitude to speak with such clarity of mind despite death staring her in the face, and despite the exhaustion that dragged her down every time she moved, spoke or even inhaled deeply. Beaten into a corner, I had to accept the truth; Mioda was dying. Not just in terms of her curse, but also her waning health. The nature of the experiment the cult had inflicted upon her had obviously doomed her from the start, and I could feel her fading every moment.

"I'm sorry for you...I'm so sorry. I tried, Mioda...we tried. We did our best...and we failed you. We..." My voice trailed off as I struggled to find the right things to say in such a wrong situation, to fill the gaping void with my speech when there wasn't anything to be said. "It's not fair."

"Life is not fair, Valmar; I can tell from your own condition that you should understand that very well. You did try; that's the best any of you could have done. You didn't have to. You didn't have to follow my voice when you heard me cry the first time; you didn't have to give me any of your supplies, or to spend more than a minute by my side. You didn't have to tell others about what happened to me, and they didn't have to believe you; and when they did, they didn't have to search for a solution. My colleagues at the academy didn't need to risk their lives for a poor student who wandered away from our handlers. And you didn't need to risk coming down here alone when you didn't even know if I would be alive or not.

"None of you needed to do any of that, but all of you did. And even if I were to live another five hundred years, I could never thank you enough for trying. From the very beginning, I knew I wouldn't survive this; my hope was only for a bit of respite before I passed on. But you, all of you, have at least helped me to die knowing that somebody cared enough to try. And that's enough for me to let go painlessly."

Emotions for which I have no label coursed through my cold veins, and I found myself holding her hand for a long time as the two of us sat there in that dank underground prison. I wanted to scream at the top of my unmoving lungs, I wanted to run until my knees needed to be replaced, I wanted to destroy every object in that dungeon, so crushing was all that I felt. But I restrained myself, for it was the only thing I had some semblance of control over, and it was Mioda's frail fingers in my palm that kept me grounded throughout.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Nerapa had begun to crawl on her belly across the stone floor over toward her vile staff. Even after knowing that her cult had been smashed alongside her facility, the crone appeared intent on exacting further pain upon all who refused to bow before her. On unsteady footing, I forced myself to my feet and intercepted the cult leader long before she had drawn near to her staff, stepping on the torn remains of her carcass. More from the bitter rage of a defeated tyrant fallen from arrogant grace than any sort of real hostility, Nerapa unleashed a string of curses in my direction. I remember neither the words she hurled at me nor what exactly I did to finish her off, but I know that it ended with her still sentient head and backbone being shoved into a crevice in the wall and then packed deeper inside with dirt, wood chips from her broken staff, glass shards and paper waste. It brought me no sense of joy or satisfaction; even if I'd damned her functioning brain and eyes to a dark prison until eternity or whenever ants and other insects in the dungeon consumed her remains - whichever came first - the reality was that she'd failed in her attempt to send a living bomb to Veil Zekk but succeeded in ruining the life of one promising young student. There was no victory to be had for any of us that room.

Recollection of how Mioda reacted to news of her colleagues' presence returned to my mind, and I kneeled before her once more. "Mioda...they're here. Your professor, four of your fellow students and their handler came to help fight the cult if it meant retrieving you. The professor used the conflict as a test for the others, and...well, they're here. Even if it's from a distance, please...you need to see someone familiar before you move on. They likely need it, to. Please, listen to me...don't let it end here, in this room of all places."

Her head lulled to the side, and while I could tell that she disliked the idea, the fire she'd displayed even a few minutes beforehand was gone. "I can't let them see me like...this...I feel so...it's too much," she panted, showing resistance but not outright rejection. Even if she'd possessed more energy, I could tell that she wouldn't have fought me over the suggestion.

"Would you meet your end here, then? You're so close...I can carry you above now that the dungeon is cleared out. You'd at least see the sky one last time; breathe fresh air one last time; be free of a cage one last time. I'm begging you, Mioda...don't let it end here."

It was wrong of me, but I pressured her. Even then, I knew that she must have felt it, but my selfishness was beyond control at that point. Conserving her energy, she hugged herself and hunched over, honing her vision on her lap as she took her time to consider the matter. After an amount of time which could have been long or short - my recollection of that, like certain other details, has all but disappeared over time - she nodded her head in affirmation and shifted her weight in such a way that her body was removed from the cell bars she'd been resting on.

I stepped inside and scooped her up like a child, wincing at how thin and light she was. For sure it was from the runes; even if she'd been thin before the whole ordeal, she couldn't have been that underweight naturally. Leaving that disgusting room for good, I stumbled over the remains of the blood golems and retraced my steps through the dungeon. Mioda leaned her head against my shoulder and my memories from the past lives of the people who comprised my body and mind brought images of having carried children, spouses and patients in such a way before. I almost forgot the way out as I fought to keep my mind in the present and leave reminiscing over the images and associated feelings for another time. Every step I took in the dungeon seemed to affect Mioda no matter how lightly I tread, and I could feel her fading even more as we made our exit, even when I greatly slowed down and spent an inordinate amount of time escaping that place.

Once we reached the stairwell leading back up, the sounds of a dying battle in its last phases met my ears, and from the sounds of weapons and spells known only on Azeroth I could tell that the cult was nearly wiped out entirely. At least the people of Veil Zekk and the heroes who were fighting to bring peace on an alternate version of Draenor would be rid of one more menace, though the thought provided me little solace at the time. When the light of the dungeon's torch sconces disappeared and the light of the declining day reached my eyes, I paused momentarily to force myself to retain control of myself; Mioda was returning to the world of the living, and her runes were once again deadly weapons.

The long tunnel leading out from the stairwell was partially blocked by piles of corpses of the winged arakkoa, their bodies bashed in by a warhammer. Before I could even see Zhenya ahead of the piles on the bridge, her presence became known by the loud, almost mechanical humming sound emitted by Mioda's body; the runes shone brightly in a constantly changing opalescent pattern, and the doomed young woman found the strength to speak loudly.

"Somebody is near; get them away now," she panted in desperation.

Immediately, it was apparent that Zhenya knew what the loud hum meant, and she appeared from behind the pile of corpses as she fell back and ran further away on the bridge just beyond the mouth of the tunnel. Looking back over her heavily armored shoulder, Zhenya dropped any pretense of combat and put distance between us and her, creating loud clopping sounds as her hooves hit the stone surface of the bridge. Gradually, the runes on Mioda's skin returned to their normal dim glow and the humming noise drifted away.

When Zhenya stopped to see us, she was too far away for me to make out the details of her masked helmet. In one single event that day that could be labeled as fortunate, I remembered that Zhenya could hear well even when wearing the helmet and I had an exceptionally loud yelling voice.

"Zhenya, tell the others that I have her, and that...this is it," I yelled, stumbling over the last part. "Tell them I'm sorry...but this is it. It's time."

For once Zhenya took my words seriously, and she didn't need to ask what exactly it was time for. After giving Mioda a look over from that far off distance, Zhenya turned tail and ran toward the other end of the bridge in the colosseum where six red clad figures waited. Able to bring Mioda even further forward without endangering anybody, I took the opportunity and kicked enough cultist corpses away for me to comfortably pass through without leaving Mioda to walk on foot, and we entered the world above again.

All around us, dead cultists littered the arena. Hundreds - not a hundred, but hundreds - had fallen from the skies, and not a single corpse of an ally was in sight. Feathers smoldered and craters were still on fire, and the six figures I counted at the end of the bridge all stood unimpeded and uninjured as Zhenya finally reached them and spoke to them in earnest. The six blood elves had taken out what had to be half of the cult and its mercenaries all by themselves; whatever the name of this mage academy was, they knew what they were doing in terms of offensive magic...if only there had been a way to save the colleague of theirs in my arms.

Tense discussion was taking place among the figures at the end of the bridge judging by the gestures and the occasional raised voice that reached my ears. Mioda forced her head to tilt up and watched the conversation in earnest, and I could feel her tense up despite her weakness. Eventually, the four smaller figures I identified as the other students followed a figure that was walked with violent movements whom I identified as Oronil. Zhenya followed them out through the tunnel that formed an exit from the entire colosseum itself, confusing me as to why they were leaving when their colleague was right here. Even more confusing was when Zhenya came back into the colosseum after a minute or so, and began to walk alongside the group's professor as he approached. Reshad and his people were nowhere to be found, and even the last throes of the aerial battle outside the arena, which I would see over the horizon, seemed very distant as Mioda and I both fixated on the duo approaching us. They walked cautiously, but I knew that they didn't intend to stop when Zhenya began to wave at me.

Mioda squirmed in my arms. "I can stand now," she whispered, again trying to conserve energy. I asked her if she was sure, to which she whispered again in reply.

When I set her down her legs buckled and she nearly collapsed, and I wrapped my arm around her shoulder to keep her level. Her legs shook like mine had in the dungeon below - not from anxiety, but from fatigue. Mustering a resolve I don't think I posses anymore, I forced myself to grit my teeth, repress what I was feeling and press forward inch by inch, bringing Mioda for a final meeting with her professor. Professor Seraph understood the dangers of what he was doing, and Mioda understood the risk her presence would put him in, and neither one of them backed away. Unable to deny anyone a last wish at that point, or even to think straight, I continued to help Mioda toward the center of the bridge even when Zhenya remained behind the professor and halted her approach. Every step was agony for all of those involved, yet Mioda seemed to be the least pained after Zhenya, who rarely reacted to anything.

Low at first, the mechanical hum began once more, and I knew that Professor Seraph had entered the range that would trigger the runes. As far as I understood at the time, the results had never been observed, but after all I'd witnessed below I knew that the runes were functional. That opalescent pattern began to brighten, and in turn lit up the bridge beneath our feet. At the sound, Professor Seraph came to a stop, appearing even more stoic and unmoving when Zhenya continued walking away after having escorted him toward the halfway point.

Displaying a willpower that even a dreadlord would envy, Mioda locked her knees and steadied herself, pushing away from me a little bit. "It's time to let go, Valmar," she panted while giving me the most honest, sincere expression I've ever seen. "Do not ever blame yourself for any of this, please...in my wildest dreams, I could not dream of someone going to such lengths to help. You tried...now it's time to go. I don't want you to get hurt."

My blue undead glow met her almost nonexistent fel green. The total amount of time I'd known her had spanned less than a week; the total number of hours I'd been around her while she was awake was minuscule. Yet suddenly my feet turned to lead, and the temperature of my temples began to increase as I fought to suppress my creeping denial of the reality. There was so little time, so little warning, before I realized the person who I'd devoted every single minute to saving was now telling me and the world itself goodbye. No time, not even a few extra seconds, were granted for me to comprehend the fact that Mioda was there before me, and in a minute would no longer be there. In my memories of past lives, I could remember images of losing comrades and loved ones and many of those images were accompanied by feelings, but they were all distant compared to this. Afraid that my logic would be overwhelmed, I could only nod and touch her on the shoulder one last time before turning around and walking away.

The hum began to fill my ears as I approached the professor. That old stone face of his was unmoving, and I wondered if he'd even noticed I was there until I spoke.

"Professor, you don't have much time; I don't know how long the runes take to trigger, but you won't be able to be near her long before...saying goodbye."

Without even looking at me, he tapped the bottom of his staff on the bridge a single time, and a very stable, clear portal opened behind Zhenya. The blood mage's skill led to a very clear picture of Reshad and the others on the other side, a good distance away from the colosseum itself by the looks of the landscape. While the bird people seemed find as they watched a scene just out of view, Mioda's classmates looked completely crestfallen as they waited for us to join them. Oronil had a morose look on his face; he actually seemed to be in a worse emotional state than the students.

Eyes fixated on Mioda, Professor Seraph almost seemed bothered by my insistence. "Leave us," he ordered sternly. "My brother knows what to do."

Confused, I continued to stare at him for a moment, but the hard edge to his voice prevented me from talking to him again. I began to fear for Mioda; would her professor blame it all on her? Would he provide her with grief and stress in her last moments of life? Neither of the two elves seemed to realize that Zhenya and I were still standing there, and the professor continued to approach his student even as the hum grew louder and the runes glowed more brightly at each step.

But my fears turned out to be unfounded. Mioda exuded a melancholy sense of loss at the approach of her teacher, but no fear. Her resolve helped her to remain standing even when I could tell that her body wanted to collapse and wither away, and she even took a step forward to meet the man I'd been wondering about since the first time I'd met her. If I'd ever held any doubts over what Professor Seraph's first name was, they were cleared up when he finished walking right up to her, undaunted by the increasingly loud hum in the area.

I know that what I did was wrong, and I do not seek to exonerate myself from the guilt I feel over it. But I'd been so affected by the events leading up to that meeting that I stood outside the portal, ignoring Zhenya's frustrated orders for me to follow her through. It was an invasion of privacy and an unhealthy manifestation of vicarious living, but I know even now that I couldn't help myself at that time. Sadness, anger, and despair crashed against joy and admiration that the two of them had been reunited at least in their final minutes in this plane of existence, and I'm ashamed to confess that it all combined with an inexplicable and mistaken pang of envy when Professor Seraph took Mioda's hand in his.

So bright did the glow become that I almost had difficulty seeing their lips move, and so loud was the hum that I almost couldn't hear their words. But in my inappropriate observation of their reunion, I witnessed something so beautiful that I can still feel it even today.

Apologies were met by claims that there was nothing to apologize for. Explanations for absences and wrongs that needed no explanation between the two. Confessions of regrets and of mistakes made out of anger and immaturity passed between the two freely and easily. Just as the professor's stone cold visage softened into a sense of warmth so rare for their kind, a sense of bliss and acceptance that clashed with Mioda's scarred flesh, torn ears and wilted frame lit her up even more than the near blinding light of the runes.

The hum became nearly unbearable as the runes finally triggered. Zhenya may or may not have screamed in my ear; there's no way to tell. The last thing I remember at that point was her armored hand grabbing me by the sleeve and yanking before the world turned white.


	10. Memories Alive

When I regained consciousness, I found myself among fallen trees and blasted rubble far too close to the colosseum for me to have lost it right there. It took my only a few seconds to regain my faculties of reason, and I surmised that, in addition to having been hit by the blast from Mioda's runes but then conveniently knocked through the portal, we must have been teleported to a rather safe distance. And then, upon finding my unconscious, my comrades pulled me closer to the colosseum for some reason. I awoke to the sound of familiar voices behind me and figured out that they needed to return to the wreckage from the blast but didn't feel safe enough to leave me on my own.

As an undead person I feel no physical pain, but I do retain a measurement of sensation and I could immediately sense that something was wrong. The blows I'd suffered during the fight against the blood golems beneath the colosseum had been worsened by the blast; I'd later undergo two separate surgical procedures by a talented surgeon at a charity hospital at Exarch's Refuge since my body can't heal naturally on its own, to repair a torn rotator cuff and a dislocated finger. None of that seemed very important at the time, though.

I sat up, finding myself among a dozen or so other survivors of the blast in need of medical attention. We'd been lined up in clear view of the colosseum, and a few healers either tended to or simply guarded us as dozens and dozens more of Draenor and Azeroth's heroes sifted among the rubble left after the blast. The colosseum and all associated structures were destroyed, and the sky was filled only by Reshad's people and more of said heroes scouting for any remnants of Nerapa's forces. Dead cultists lied all around us, as did the bodies of the fallen as people worked to pull the remains of their comrades out of the wreckage and dig makeshift graves. For as far as the eye could see, people of all races and factions were setting up gravestones carved from broken tree bark and smashed bricks, or whatever other suitable objects they could find. It was a scene few people there found unfamiliar considering the line of work most adventurers found themselves in, but being the first time I'd lost somebody since my creation a few years prior - my six sets of memories from past lives felt distant at that moment - it stung quite a bit.

In a rare sign of what counted as compassion from her, Zhenya actually clopped up behind me, knelt down and placed an armored hand on my shoulder. Knowing her, it was probably the closest non sexual contact she had with somebody in a very long time.

"They were at the epicenter," she began softly, correctly guessing that I'd know exactly what she was talking about. "There were no remains, but Oronil has picked out a plot." She extended a hand to help me up, somehow sensing that one of my arms was injured despite the Light yielding poor results when trying to diagnose or heal the undead. Once again seeming to read my thoughts, and once again breaking her normal stoic demeanor, Zhenya actually appeared to make a joke as she helped me to walk to the plot. "I didn't know that the undead can be knocked out cold like that."

It was a sort of dark humor that might not have quite worked well in any other situation and between any other pair of people. As we walked slowly toward the group of congregated elves and bird people, I surveyed the quiet scene all around us. For the first time, the place actually looked peaceful. "Well, we posses consciousness. I suppose that possession of a thing is the first prerequisite to losing it," I surmised, though my mind was elsewhere at the time.

Once we reached the plot, I realized that I must have been out cold for a good deal of time. Mioda's four classmates looked like they'd been weeping as young people of all races would, but the past tense is the important factor there; a few of them still choked on their own exhalation but other than that, they appeared to have already finished mourning. Reshad and his two counterparts chatted lightly with the four other students, and while everyone appeared to have calmed down, there were no jokes shared. Ahead of them, Kurekk stood like a sort of block between them and Oronil, who knelt before two carved pieces of wood. I could already read the Thalassian runes, and knew that what I had witnessed hadn't been some sort of a bad dream.

Zhenya stopped when she felt me hesitate, and the two of us watched the bereaved brother for a moment. Acceptance didn't prove easy so much as simply unavoidable; there was no possible way for the stages of denial and bargaining when the gravestones were clearly right there. The fact that a vicious, murderous cult had been destroyed after a long blood feud with the good people of Veil Zekk meant that the ordeal didn't feel like a loss or a waste of time, but I was struck by the pain of the deaths of Mioda and Aneril all the same. Selfish or immature? Perhaps. We were surrounded by at least two dozen other such scenes of other people burying comrades, some of them possibly in more pain and having suffered through longer struggles than we had. But their stories are not Mioda's story; and I could only account for the loss of the person I'd failed to save.

Upon seeing that my legs were unhurt and that I could walk just fine, Zhenya let go of me and stood next to Kurekk, the two of them bearing surprisingly similar personalities and mannerisms despite the difference in their physiology. I approached Oronil, noticing only then how much his stone cold stare resembled that of his brother's. Though his expression was unreadable, I could imagine that a number of thoughts and feelings were flowing through his mind like the waves at the end of a storm.

"I had hoped that you and I would meet again one day, but...I never imagined it would be like this." Frivolous words in retrospect, but I didn't know how else to speak to him. Despite the strong attachment I'd developed to Mioda, the truth was that Aneril had been Oronil's brother; they'd spent centuries together no doubt.

Those old scars on his face barely moved, and I could tell that he was extending a tolerance for me that he wouldn't have granted to others. "Me neither," he whispered, though I don't think he'd intended or even noticed how quiet his normally strong, charismatic voice sounded. "I wish circumstances had been different," he added, an ambiguous hint to his voice.

I knelt next to him as well, ensuring to lower myself carefully for the sake of balance. "We tried," I sighed.

Fel green eyes flickered, and a sort of coldness borne in someone who'd witnessed the loss of most of his country's population during the Third War formed a protective barrier around him. "So many have died...very few truly live. I saw them when they were together, for however brief a time between when I was released from prison and today. They were happy...they made each other happy. I'd rather remember them in life than dwell on this." He swept has hands across the air in front of us, though in a very subtle, understated motion. There were no bodies in those graves, but it felt like hallowed ground all the same.

After a few moments, I found I had nothing more to say. There really wasn't at the time; we tried, and we failed, but in their final moments I witnessed what Oronil was talking about. The fear of death was entirely absent in them both - even Aneril, who unlike Mioda, could have chosen to live on. There was a sense of peace radiating from them both even more brightly than the magic from the runes, and I knew that the two of them had found a joy far beyond what the rest of us knew. Yet there we were, the survivors who would live on. How spoiled we were...how foolish I was.

"Where will you go?" I asked him, trying in vain to change the topic when I realized that there was no way to simply rationalize my way out of what had happened.

That old stone face of his didn't change, and he didn't even seem to feel any need to shift his weight after holding in the same position for such a long time. "For now, I am charged with escorting these students back to the Refuge. They practiced their skills in the field, and their instructor died in a way they all probably consider enviable; they will finish mourning in a week or so and move on. The academy will give a token speech and then soon forget."

"It's not fair," I muttered almost involuntarily. My gloved hand brushed away a bit of dirt that the arid wind had already blown into the grooves forming Mioda's carved name.

Oronil may have spent a good deal of time with his brother and past future sister in law upon his release, as he almost seemed to channel her. "Life isn't fair, my friend; neither is death. But if it was their time to go, this was the most optimal way it could have been," he muttered himself, his voice laced with a forced distance that at least signaled that his heart wasn't as cold as his visage. After a few moments, he seemed ready to change the subject as well, also pained by the utter helplessness we both felt. "Once I have escorted the students back, I likely won't be bound to them by the terms of my parole anymore. I know them very well."

Both of us were uncomfortable. We were both mourning, him probably more than me but internally, and we had only known each other in a very different setting from this. Unsure of how to open up to him when we were both devastated by the loss but unwilling to let go of what little connection I had to anyone else in my short undead life, I tried to cling. "Khujand is at Frostfire," I told him. "He says he can probably help find work."

He raised one of his long eyebrows. "You weren't kidding when you mentioned what a strange evening it had been yesterday." Pausing for a moment, he seemed to understand the implication. "If you and your friend are willing to wait in Talador...I might go along. Without Aneril, I have very little holding me to anything."

"Well, Zhenya won't be able to follow, but I'm sure she'll go with us halfway. The bird people will not; they're the real victors here." Despite my respect for Reshad and my sincere admiration of how his people had rid themselves of an old threat, I couldn't prevent the bitterness in my voice.

Fortunately, my old friend was in better control, and didn't lower himself to the level of jealousy for the good fortune of others. "If that's the case, then feel free to fly to the Refuge whenever you're ready. I...need to spend some extra time here."

"I understand, but will the students in your charge be patient enough to wait?"

It was a silly question, as I came to realize. "They're third year academy students. It doesn't matter whether they want to wait or not," Oronil replied while staring at his brother's headstone, the faintest hint of a dark humored smile creaking onto the corner of his mouth.

Leaving him to a vigil I wished I could have shared in but did not feel I had the right to, I turned back toward Reshad and his people. Kurekk and Zhenya had joined the rest of them, and the group was even more subdued than when I'd woken stepped forward, and the look in his ancient eyes told me that he knew this was his last goodbye to a dear friend.

"I'll forego gushing about how my people couldn't have done this without the help you brought, and suffice by delivering our heartfelt thanks," the old scroll collector told me in his unnaturally echoing voice. "My only regret is that this will likely be the last time I see you...this dimension is not yours."

"I know...just another point on a list of regrets today. My desire is to stay for a bit longer, but I can't logically justify doing so. My heartfelt thanks for all your efforts...we tried."

Although Reshad had never actually met Mioda and most assuredly wouldn't weep for her, I know that my respect for him was mutual, and he seemed a bit downcast at seeing my own demeanor. "We did the best we could. If the young lady was as you described, I don't imagine she'd wish for you to allow the pain of her loss to linger inside."

"No...no, she wouldn't."

When the conversation skipped a beat, Zhenya poked in without a segue, so typical of her behavior. "Oronil and I discussed returning to the Refuge while you were under. I wouldn't mind going along myself, just to rest before I have to head out again. I hope that you do not mind my presence."

"Stop," I scolded her, only half seriously though at the time I don't think the humor would have made its way through in my voice. "I'm parting ways with too many people today; I'm not ready to let you go, too."

The four students never told me their names from what I remember, and typical of elves, they didn't seem keen on discussing their feelings with a stranger, much less an undead one. Beyond that, there is nothing more for me to say; we remained at the site only a little longer before Reshad lent us one of his ravens to Talador, allowing it to fly back on its own. On the way there, I found myself fixated on the plot until we flew so high and far that it became indistinguishable from all the others. It seemed unfair, but objectively speaking, wars were always unfair. Mioda left no remains and her grave was on an alternate timeline of Draenor which, through means likely well known to you by now, is permanently closed; return to that site or any part of the universe in that dimension will never be possible again after what happened a decade or so later.

Oronil's prediction about the academy had been almost prophetic. A speech was given in honor of Mioda and Aneril, and they were both posthumously granted awards commensurate for a student and a teacher at a ceremony in which a few Sindorei digniraties even temporarily ported in from our timeline on Azeroth. Thereafter he was discharged from his duties and followed myself alongside Khujand to a small settlement in Thunder Pass, where we spent much of our remaining time on parole commiserating like only three prison buddies could do. Zhenya, due to her factional affiliation, only followed us as far as Talador, though I did bump into her on a few interfactional raids until the eventual liberation of that world from the Iron Horde.

Time passed. People move on. I know that all of us did.

I never saw Reshad or Kurekk again, as I had predicted. I won't delve into the details of how that alternate timeline was eventually sealed off from us - and if you know your history well, then you know that it's been at least twenty years since it was determined that to ever open the dimensional rift again is scientifically and magically impossible. For many long months, I searched the Outland of our own timeline, asking among the bird people of that planet if they knew of stories before their planet's despoilment of one of their own named Reshad. I found that he was unheard of, as was Nerapa, and for another few months after that I wallowed in the realization that Veil Zekk, the cult and indeed all the people I met during the liberation of Draenor were specific to that alternate timeline, and had never existed in our own universe. That meant that to visit the grave of the two lovers was impossible; never again would I even be able to go through the motions of at least giving a few kind words to them or to any of those who were lost during the campaign against the Iron Horde.

In the immediate aftermath of what had transpired, I spent months doing my part in the campaign, meeting a rather colorful group of people introduced to me by Khujand. Eventually most of us moved to Ratchet alongside the friends of the she-elf he married. She's the wife of my dear friend, the mother of the apprentice who is editing this very volume and even worked as Ratchet's other warrior trainer for a time, but I don't think Cecilia minds that I can't see her as anything but a she-elf; her people as as feral as his and I suppose they like it that way. In a way, the ordeal we went though began a longer lasting friendship with an entire community that I hadn't expected; a chance meeting while my mind was occupied with the salvation of a young mage has essentially led to the entire life I've built now.

Oronil, as you know if you follow current events, is still alive and kicking. After a story of his own between him and a certain young orc woman who eventually captured his heart - that's the part you may not know - Oronil ended up causing more political uprisings across a few worlds. It's said that he was behind the people's revolution in Silvermoon a few years back; whether he did or not, I know he would not be interested in seizing the reins of power himself, and I'd like to imagine that he'll spend his last few decades of his long, nearly finished life trying to awaken the masses of the world elsewhere. Though hopefully not here in Ratchet.

Zhenya and I didn't quite keep in touch. She promised to, but Zhenya promises a lot of things and I reckon that she only means half of those promises. Though she was the best person to have watching your back - it obviously takes a true test of loyalty for a paladin and a Forsaken to become so close - she simply isn't much into writing letters. The last time I heard from her was maybe four years ago, during which she mentioned something in her brief letter about traveling eastward to work as a mercenary for some group of pirates used as a proxy force by the Alliance. Seeing as how factional conflict has died down, I've considered going to finally visit her a few times, but as has been the case in my distant friendship with her for the past two and a half decades, such plans always seem to fall through.

That leaves me with the case of Mioda. Being the storyteller that he was in his universe, Reshad pledged that he would ensure that the young woman's story wouldn't be forgotten among his people. The lack of any knowledge of it whatsoever on Outland is another testament to the fact that that alternate timeline was entirely separate from the past of our own Draenor, no matter what a handful of theorists still insist on claiming. Still, I like to think that even if it's in another universe that I will never visit again, people still talk of the stalwart young woman who refused to cower in fear even when I'd found her in that dungeon in the end. That people still talk of the fiancé who chose to die with her rather than watch her wither away on her own, proving that no matter what had transpired between them before her abduction, they still didn't plan to part even in death. That people still talk about the strange group of heroes from not only another planet but from another reality entirely who came to rid them of the fanatical cult that had plagued their land for years, and that Mioda and Aneril were two of many who'd laid down their lives so a completely unrelated time and space could live just a little bit easier. And just maybe, that their names are still spoken when the names of the fallen are remembered.

And that, my dear reader, brings me to my greatest sin. Other adventures and exploits were had over the years, both on Draenor and even here in Kalimdor. None of them remain as vivid in my memory as Mioda's tale, and yet I've already committed those stories to writing; this is the first time Mioda's has been told to anyone other than those directly involved, however. I failed to fulfill my promise to Reshad and my duty to Mioda and Aneril, and for that I have absolutely no excuse. After more than twenty years, old wounds have healed and it's much easier for me to delve into these memories; perhaps it was my fear that it would be more difficult than this that prevented me for so long.

But that time is over. The entire amount of time in which I knew Mioda wasn't more than a few days, and my interactions with her lasted only a few hours; not even much longer than the time I spent with her nameless classmates or anyone else I met there in passing. Yet despite all that, Mioda left an impression on me which still remains to this day. Even after twenty years, I can remember not only what she looked like when I first found her, but also what I imagined she would have looked like before the cult had cursed her. I've even drawn a few pictures of her, though for the time being those will remain private.

She touched me in a way I can't quite describe. Even if she's dead and gone, mourned only by family members that have most assuredly moved on after twenty years, I vow that she will never be forgotten. I owe that much to her for the sense of purpose and the renewed appreciation for life that she gave me.

If there's one message I can leave _you_ with, dear reader, rather than turning this into some sort of selfish screed about my own personal feelings, it's this: cherish those you have.

Right now, there's a very good chance that you're not on the best of terms with a person close to you in life. It's normal, and it's the right of every being to be angry when the time is appropriate. For anyone to claim that we should never quarrel with each other is simply stupid, and it would sully the somber note upon which I am trying to end. Rather, what I say is: don't go overboard. From what Oronil once told me during a late night chat in Frostfire, the last conversation Mioda and Aneril had shared was an argument over some trivial matter. All they had to remember each other by when she was locked in a cage and he was worrying himself sick about her location were harsh words and statements neither of them meant, as is common in domestic disputes. That is inevitable and happens to all of us, so why am I giving this reminder?

I'm giving it in the hope that you remember not to go overboard. Fights aren't supposed to last indefinitely, and longer term relations between friends and family aren't supposed to be ruined by disagreements over fleeting, temporary matters. The fragility of the mortal condition is so much more valuable than that, yet so easy for us to lose sight of in the heat of the moment. Please, whoever you aren't talking to, whoever you've boycotted personally, whatever the reasons for a grudge you bear, reevaluate the bigger picture. Draw a relationship timeline, use a mental scale and balance, or if you're especially blocked from thinking anything good about that person, force yourself to imagine how you would feel if you were informed at that very moment that they were dead and you'd never see them again to make amends.

That fragility is what makes us truly alive. It is so very beautiful, yet so very tenuous; one of the great ironies of life is how easy it is to break bonds that are supposed to be long lasting and intimate. Please, wherever you are when you happen upon this short tale, however you feel, reevaluate where you stand. Don't let those bonds break for issues of lesser importance. I saw, and I know: anger among those you care is almost always trivial in the long run.

With that, I will cease my moralizing and get down from my soapbox. The story has been told. I don't know for how much longer I have in this life before turning hollow, but it is my sincere wish that even after that time comes, this story is still available for those who wish to bury themselves in books and revive the souls of the fallen by ensuring that their stories are read. Light be with you all.

Valmar of the Forsaken

Ratchet, the Barrens

June 28, year 55


End file.
